


Here & Now

by valkyrish



Series: With Apologies to NPR [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anders: Best Boyfriend in Thedas, Anders: Worst TA and Roommate in Thedas, Aveline has Legitimate Questions, Bookstores, Carver Rivalry +5, Coffee Shops, Cute, Dirty Jokes, Eventual Romance, Fenris Saves the Day, Friendship, Gen, Graduate Student Anders, Humor, I Listen to Carly Rae Jepsen Exclusively While I Write This, Isabela's Here Now So That's a Given, M/M, Making Out, Mentioned Varric/Bianca, Misunderstandings, Modern Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Purple Hawke, Slice of Life, Suggestive Themes, Unrequited Crush, Varric and Hawke are Instant Bros, but once they do :D, it takes Hawke and Anders 8 chapters to meet, mild violence, shameless flirting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-04-19 01:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 30,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14226333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valkyrish/pseuds/valkyrish
Summary: Need skilled individual for private security work. Must be able to lift >100 lbs. Experience with computers, surveillance a plus. Discretion required, sense of humor appreciated. Contactno-nugs@freemail.comfor details.After three months of living with Carver in an efficiency apartment, "private security" sounds pretty good to Hawke.Prequel toFresh Air, but could be read alone. Updated as close to weekly as I can get.





	1. Private Security

**Author's Note:**

> For JD, my bestie and the one responsible for all of this.
> 
> Apologies to Jeremy Hobson and Robin Young.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Familiarity breeds contempt.

> Need skilled individual for private security work. Must be able to lift >100 lbs. Experience with computers, surveillance a plus. Discretion required, sense of humor appreciated. Contact no-nugs@freemail.com for details.

It was the first ad that had caught Hawke’s eye. He had skills; the ad didn’t specify what kind, but Hawke could read between the lines. He could carry his mabari all day long, and Wrex had to weigh at least a hundred pounds. Somewhere in a cardboard box, still in the envelope it came in, sat a bachelor’s degree in Computer Science, and Hawke knew his way around video equipment. Discretion was no problem. It felt like he hadn’t talked to anyone but his brother for three months— _I really need to get out more._ And his sense of humor spoke for itself. He checked all the boxes.

“Private security?” said Carver, squinting over Hawke’s shoulder. “Sounds sketchy.”

Hawke just smirked. “I like to live on the edge. What do you say?”

“I say you can go right ahead and get yourself stabbed. I’ll stick to legitimate work.”

“Right,” Hawke drawled. “Because the job prospects for first year college students are so lucrative.” 

“Oh, like you've done anything with your degree,” Carver shot back. He had a point there. “Do you even know where this so-called job is? That’s just a free email address. I don’t need to tell you that it could be anyone.”

“That’s why you need to contact them for more information.” Hawke rolled his eyes. “I’ll send it from a dummy account on a proxy server if that makes you feel better.”

“Garrett, you know I don’t know what that means.” Carver heaved a sigh. “What does it matter? You’re just going to do it anyway.”

“You worry too much. Anyone who values humor can’t be all bad,” said Hawke. He started to draft his response.

“If you believe that, you should take a look in a mirror.” 

Hawke couldn’t help but laugh at Carver’s retort, but he kept on typing.

> To Whom it May Concern,
> 
> I would like to request more information regarding your intriguing solicitation for private security work. My particular set of skills aligns closely with your needs, and I would be delighted to provide several references for my superb sense of humor. 
> 
> Warmest regards,
> 
> GH

Carver, now in his work uniform, came in right as Hawke hit Send. “You’re not actually replying. You are, aren’t you?” 

“Already did,” said Hawke with a grin. “Where’s your sense of adventure? Besides, I didn’t agree to anything.” A new message appeared on the screen and he clicked it. 

 _Color me interested,_ read the reply, followed by a phone number. 

“I've got a good feeling about this,” Hawke said.

Carver rolled his eyes and grabbed the car keys. “Just try not to get killed. I still expect you to pay your half of the rent.”

“That's exactly why I'm taking this job, dear brother.” Hawke pulled out his phone, trying to decide if he should text or call. 

“So you're taking it now?” Carver shook his head. “Don't expect me to bail you out of jail. I've got class after work.”

Hawke clutched his shirt over his heart. “Oh no, Carver, I don't need a ride, but thank you for offering. I will take the bus.”

“You knew I needed the car today,” Carver said. “You know, it’s a good thing you never unpacked. Makes it easier to rent your room out.”

Carver did have a point. It was probably time to unpack. Or move. But maybe Hawke would try and get the job first.

“Love you, too, little brother.”

Carver just sneered at him and slammed the door. 

Deep down, Hawke knew Carver had a right to be annoyed. 

Their mother had asked for two things before she passed away: she wanted Hawke to live his life, and she wanted him and Carver to get along. Hawke thought about it a lot, and he assumed Carver did, too. For a while, they had both made an effort for her sake. In their shared grieving, he had taken pity on Hawke and made room in his small Lowtown apartment. Hawke couldn't bear staying in Lothering anymore, and he would always be grateful to Carver for taking him in. 

Caring for their mother had taken so much of Hawke’s time that he didn't know what to do with himself now, but he was sure he had used up most of his goodwill with Carver. Even doing most of the housework (it was what he was used to) wasn't enough to make up for the close quarters. He and Carver got along best when there was some distance between them. Plus, he didn't want to be left without any savings. 

It was beyond time to start working on their mother’s wishes. 

He made the call. 

“Varric Tethras at your service.” 

The voice on the other end sounded good-natured. “The name’s Hawke, and I’m at _your_ service.”

Varric chuckled. “You don't beat around the bush, do you?”

“No need. I'm the man for this job.”

“I like your confidence, but let's discuss the details first.”

Hawke straightened and searched for a pen and paper. “Name the time and place.”

“You free today?”

Hawke smirked. “I've got a lot of competing offers, but I'll make time for you.”

Varric gave him the address of his shop and they hung up. If Hawke wanted to make it in time, he'd have to leave now.

In the corner, Wrex grunted in his sleep. Hawke needed a bigger place, if not for himself then for Wrex. Keeping a mabari hound in such a small apartment just wasn't fair.

It had been a long time since he'd had an interview, but he had a hunch this wasn't a suit and tie scenario. He brushed his teeth, ran a hand through his hair, and was out the door in ten minutes.

Varric’s shop was on the edge of Hightown, and if Hawke was in peak form he could have jogged there and made it in half an hour without breaking a sweat. He'd have to work himself back up. 

The bus got him there in 20 minutes. From the want ad, Hawke was expecting a shady warehouse, so he was shocked to find himself in front of what looked like a bookstore.

“ _Potent Prose_ ,” he muttered to himself. Was it some sort of speakeasy? A front for a mob operation? _You really need some excitement if you're wishing for mob connections,_ he chided himself.

He double checked the address and pushed the door open. A bell rang and a dwarf with a roguishly handsome face and long, blond hair on his head and chest looked up from behind a coffee counter. Hawke figured it must be some sort of bookstore/coffee shop/spy network headquarters. 

“You must be Hawke.”

Hawke recognized the husky voice immediately. “And you must be Varric Tethras.”

“You certainly look the part.” Varric looked him up and down, but he seemed to be sizing Hawke up rather than checking him out.

“If you're casting a movie, you should know I'll only do a nude scene if it's essential to the plot.”

Varric laughed. “My books haven't made it to the big screen yet, but I'll keep that in mind.”

“Books?” Hawke asked. “You're a writer?”

“And you were doing so well,” Varric said with a wince. 

“Sorry, I'm not much of a reader,” Hawke admitted. “But your ad didn't mention anything about an attention span.”

“Fair point.” Varric gestured at the empty store. “Welcome to Potent Prose, my coffee shop, bookstore, and writing studio.”

It was clearly a labor of love—shelves stacked with books of all sizes and conditions, done in tasteful earth tones with pops of bold colors here and there—but impressive as it was, it didn't look like the sort of place that needed a security guard. Maybe the books were very rare, or maybe it was a very expensive espresso machine. 

“It's rustic, but refined. I like it.”

Varric's lip quirked up and Hawke could tell he had said the right thing this time. “My pride and joy, after Bianca, of course.”

Hawke didn't see a ring. “Girlfriend?” he wondered.

Varric shook his head, smiling like he had a secret. Hawke could tell he made that face a lot. “No, she's much more special than that. I'll introduce you sometime."

“Isn't that a bit forward?” said Hawke with a grin. He was curious, but he had more pressing matters.

“You're right. Where are my manners? Let's talk about the job.” Varric locked the door, drew the shades, and flipped the _Open_ sign to _Closed_.

Hawke raised his eyebrows, heart quickening just a little. He was ready. “Let me guess. You're a rare book smuggler.”

“No,” said Varric, chuckling. “It's more the other way around.”

“Sorry?” Hawke didn't follow. 

Varric sighed. “You see, Hawke, I’ve got my fingers in a few pots. I'm a businessman, a storyteller who occasionally puts those words to paper, and I know a good cup of coffee when I taste one.”

“Not to mention you possess devastating wit and humility,” Hawke added. 

With a smirk, Varric went on. “And since you're not familiar with my novels, you should know that the majority are crime dramas inspired by events around Kirkwall.”

Hawke was beginning to piece things together. It might not have been a spy ring, but it was close. “So you're privy to information of interest to certain unsavory types.”

“Exactly,” said Varric, his smile widening. “But worse than that, my last novel hit the bestseller list.”

Hawke frowned. “Are you in witness protection or something? That doesn't seem like a bad thing.”

“Oh, it's not.” Varric walked to the register and pulled out a thin book from under the register. “Some hack writer stole my unfinished manuscript and made their own counterfeit sequel.”

Hawke didn't see how a fake book could be worse than possible threats on Varric’s life, but then again, he wasn't a writer. “So you got hacked by a hack?”

“Basically.” Varric let out a bitter laugh. “I need someone who can improve my digital and physical security.”

“What about lifting over a hundred pounds?” An image of carrying Varric out of a firefight flashed through his mind but he ignored it.

Now Varric looked sheepish. “I also need someone to help cart stuff around. My old guy quit on me.”

Boxes of books were no problem. But one thing still bothered Hawke. “How do you know I'm not the hack, or someone with an axe to grind?”

“Garrett Hawke, 24 years old, moved from Lothering a few months ago? Your father was the lead guitarist for Blood Mage—I'll admit it, _Grave Robber_ was pretty catchy. One brother, Carver Hawke, and I'm guessing you have a dog.”

Hawke blinked. “Well, that's just cheap. Everyone from Ferelden is in a metal band.”

At this, Varric laughed out loud. “So should we discuss compensation?”

“You sure you need a techie? You seem to do just fine.”

“Access to a reverse phone number look up and a search engine doesn't make me a security expert. You've got the degree and the work history.” 

Good thing Hawke hadn't bothered with a resume. Varric probably knew he'd been out of work a while, too, and he graciously hadn't mentioned Hawke’s mother and sister. 

As it happened, Varric was offering a lot. Hawke wondered what kind of business the store pulled in—no one was lining up to get in—but Varric was the businessman, and he had his publishing profits. Most of all, Hawke needed connections in Kirkwall, and Varric seemed like the sort of person who was worth knowing. 

“All right, Varric. When do I start?”

Varric grinned. “Hawke, I've got a new shipment in back with your name on it.”


	2. An Honest Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke makes a new friend while he tries (and fails) to get the hang of the espresso machine.

Within three weeks, Hawke was brewing coffee and ringing customers along with his actual duties. Varric wasn't surprised by how quickly Hawke had gotten a handle on security. Despite his resume gaps, Hawke knew what he was doing. 

He was not such a quick study with the espresso machine, but anything was an improvement over the string of baristas that preceded him. They didn't show up, and when they did come in, they didn't even humor Varric’s conversation starters.

“Keep this up and I'm going to have to put you on the books,” Varric said. Now that he knew Hawke was a good fit, he'd have to do that anyway. 

“You'd make an honest man out of me?” said Hawke, wiping the milk steamer.

“Taxes and everything.”

Hawke smiled. “You're too good to me.” He sipped the latte he had just made but immediately pulled a face. 

Varric shook his head. There was still room for improvement. Improvement reminded him of his surprise for Hawke. 

“Hey, speaking of my generosity, I got something for you.” He pulled out his phone and sent Hawke a file. “Just sent you the first part of _Hard in Hightown_ , in audiobook format. I figured you could listen to it while you do whatever it is you do on your days off. If you want.” 

Hawke pulled out his own phone to check the message. “Thanks. I did just join a gym.” It figured that Hawke was a gym rat. Muscles like that didn't appear overnight. Hawke went on, “I usually listen to music, but I'm always up for something new.”

“It's just the first chapter. Let me know what you think of the voice. Nathaniel Howe? You might recognize him from public radio.”

“I’m not a big public radio guy,” Hawke said. This was no surprise to Varric.

“Neither am I,” he admitted.

Hawke forced another sip of the offending latte. “I'll definitely let you know what I think.”

“You don't have to finish that, you know,” said Varric. Hawke breathed a sigh of relief and poured it down the drain. 

They both looked up at the sound of the bell on the door. Varric would recognize that flaming red hair anywhere. 

“Aveline!” Varric beamed at her. “Got a hot case for me?”

“Not unless your next book involves a nude protest,” Aveline said with a grimace. 

“I would read that,” said Hawke. Turning to Aveline, he asked, “What can I get started for you?”

She frowned at Varric. “Another barista? Is there a reason you keep burning through them?” 

“Varric told me about the curse,” said Hawke with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I'm not worried.”

“This is Hawke. He's helping me out around the shop.” No need to give details. “Hawke, this is Aveline Vallen of the Kirkwall Guard.”

“Nice to meet you.” Hawke grinned. “What’ll it be?”

“Just a coffee. Black. To go. And it's nice to meet you, too.”

Hawke seemed relieved at her order. At least he could work the coffee machine.

“So you’re the guard who lets Varric ride along?” he asked Aveline. 

“Oh, no,” Varric cut in. “Aveline doesn't approve of my creative process. She's here to keep an eye on me.”

“I happen to like the coffee here,” Aveline said. “And if nothing suspicious is going on, you have nothing to worry about.”

Varric smirked. “In any case, her money’s no good here.” 

“Do you turn a profit? I don't think you've ever let me pay,” said Aveline. 

Varric's finances were fine, but the coffee shop was always more of a hobby. “Tell you what. If times get hard, I'll send you a bill.”

Hawke poured her coffee and handed it to her. “One black coffee coming up. Nice triceps, by the way.”

Aveline stared at him. “No.” 

Aveline hadn't been in Kirkwall long enough to forget about Fereldan earnesty; she just didn't know how to take a compliment. 

“I mean it,” Hawke said. “It's a hard muscle to build. I'm impressed. What do you do? Dips?”

“Oh.” She blinked. “You're serious.”

“Have you seen his arms? He's serious,” said Varric with a chuckle. 

Aveline drank some coffee and seemed to relax a little more. “I do push ups.”

“Classic. Keep it up,” said Hawke. 

Since no one had mentioned it, Varric stated the obvious. “You and Hawke have more in common than push ups. Hawke's another recent Ferelden transplant.”

Aveline almost smiled. “Denerim?”

“The big city? No, I'm from little old Lothering,” said Hawke. 

The smile faded from Aveline’s face. “I’ve been there. I can't say all my memories are good ones.”

“Another thing we have in common,” said Hawke. He left it at that, but Varric could tell Hawke and Aveline were having a moment. 

Varric knew a few things about Aveline, too. She had risen through the ranks of the Denerim beat at a young age, and she was far too young to be a widow. 

“Well, you make a good cup of coffee, Hawke. But surely you didn't come all the way from Lothering just to do that.” It didn't sound like an accusation, but Aveline snuck a glance at Varric after she spoke.

Hawke summoned a grave expression. “You caught me. Having conquered the Lothering scene, I decided to expand my international crime ring to the Free Marches. You got me this time, but this isn't the last you've seen of the Hawke family.”

Varric snickered and Aveline groaned. Then, she frowned in thought and said, “I don't suppose your crime family includes a younger brother?”

“Has my brother had run ins with the law?” Hawke opened his mouth in mock shock. “Don't tell me—you busted Carver for excessive whining? Possession of a criminally sour disposition? I didn't realize those were crimes in Kirkwall. It's a wonder he's made it this long—”

Aveline cut him off with another groan. “I keep telling him that the guard doesn't offer internships but he keeps sending his resume.” 

“My little brother is nothing if not persistent,” Hawke said. 

“You know, I’d love to meet your brother. Bring him in sometime. I'll buy him a coffee,” said Varric.

“Why even list prices on the menu?” Aveline shook her head and addressed Hawke. “Never mind. Tell Carver if he'd like to be a detective, he's welcome to apply after he graduates, but I'm not sure he has the temperament. Perhaps he'll listen to you.”

Hawke laughed so loud that Aveline nearly dropped her coffee cup and Varric grinned. “Oh, you were serious,” he said. 

“I suppose an eager undergrad is the least of my problems,” Aveline said. “I should get back to the office. The paperwork is going to be a nightmare.”

“Wait!” Hawke called out as Aveline started for the door. “I'm sure the Kirkwall Guard has its own gym, but if you ever want to throw down, Ferelden style, I'm your man."

“I'm going to pretend you didn't say it like that,” said Aveline. She looked thoughtful. “But I could use someone to challenge me. None of the other guards can beat my push up record.”

“Oh, you are definitely on.” Hawke exchanged numbers with her. 

Varric watched in bemusement. Hawke was sorely in need of friends. “You sure that's wise, Hawke? I once saw Aveline pull a tree from the ground, roots and all.”

Hawke looked impressed but Aveline frowned. 

“I told you, that was a sunflower.”

“Just try not to incapacitate my new employee. Hawke likes my jokes,” said Varric. 

“Well, then he's definitely one of a kind,” said Aveline. But she was smiling. “I'll try to make sure there's something left of him.”

“Oh no, please don't,” Hawke said. “I’ve gotten soft this past year and I need to be whipped into shape.”

Aveline pursed her lips. “Once again, I’m going to pretend you didn't say it like that.”

The two meatheads made plans to pump iron or whatever people did at the gym (Varric had never been), then Aveline bid them goodbye and left.

“Aveline’s going to be running the guard in a few years,” Varric said. “I'm sure of it.”

“What does that mean for your creative process?” asked Hawke, starting another practice latte. 

“Oh, don't worry about that. I've got a lot of Wicked Grace buddies on the ranks.” But this gave Varric an idea. “Say, I don't suppose you play?” 

Hawke grinned. “Used to play in college. Somehow we always ended up piss drunk and half-naked.”

“That sounds like Wicked Grace.” He knew just the right group to play with Hawke. “Although, we tend to skip the stripping part around here. Most nights, that is.”

“I'm up for anything.” He sipped his second latte and frowned. “Scalded the milk.”

Varric chuckled and shook his head. “Let me show you again.”

Hawke managed a serviceable latte before the customers started coming in. Varric only had to come back him up for the morning rush, and no one complained about bad drinks. No one raved, either, but Varric was optimistic.

“So,” Varric began, “work out on Tuesday, Wicked Grace on Thursday? You're a regular social butterfly.” 

“It's about time. If I have to spend another evening with my brother, Aveline is going to be investigating a murder.” Hawke had cleaning down to an art form, and he and Varric closed the shop in record time. “I'm going to make you eat your words when I bring Carver in here.”

Varric smirked. “He can't be any worse than my brother, believe me.” One day, he'd tell Hawke about Bartrand. Preferably after several drinks—it was the only way Varric could stomach talking about him at length. 

“Older or younger?”

“Older,” said Varric. “Though you wouldn't know it if you met him. Except for the beard.”

“I've been meaning to ask you about that. Never met a dwarf without one before.”

“I like to put a lot of distance between myself and Orzammar, physically and symbolically,” said Varric, locking the door. There were stories he could tell, but again, that was for another time and place. 

Hawke grinned at him. “You should braid your chest hair, just to really stick it to them.”

Hawke’s own beard wasn't bad for a human. Varric wondered if he grew it on purpose or if it was just a side effect of being a hermit for so long.

“Tell you what, Hawke,” he said. “You braid your beard and you've got yourself a deal.”

“I was thinking of shaving it off, but I can't back down from a challenge.” 

Varric was beginning to notice a pattern. That was going to make for interesting times at The Hanged Man. 

He bid Hawke good night. Laughing to himself, one more thought occurred to him. _Rivaini’s going to love this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter Aveline! So, I may need to adjust the tags. I'm not a "slow burn" writer but Anders doesn't come in for quite a while.


	3. Idle Spinning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabela and Hawke bond over bondage jokes, Aveline impresses everyone, and then they play Wicked Grace.

Isabela spun idly on the stationary bike, taking in the scenery more than working out. There were far better ways to get exercise, but the gym was sort of like foreplay in that regard. 

Watching Katriela teach spin class was much less enjoyable than watching watching her dance at night, but Isabela liked to drop in and support her nonetheless. 

“Good class, Kat,” she said after, throwing her a wink.

Katriela wiped her brow and drank some water. “Not good enough to get your heart rate up, apparently,” she said.

“You know it takes more than a workout to make me break a sweat.”

Katriela shook her head in bemusement. “I also know you have no problem keeping up with me. What's the point of coming to my class if you're not going to push yourself?"

“I hadn't seen you in a while.” Isabela smiled at her, this time without the innuendo. “How have you been?”

“Keeping busy. That new boot camp program I was telling you about starts next week,” she said.

Katriela was always developing new workout routines, but her boss was reluctant to take chances. “Good for you! I'm glad they're finally recognizing your talents.”

“Are you still working at Vincento’s? I haven't seen you there in a while.” 

Isabela was relieved that Katriela hadn't invited her to class. She was fine with a little aerobics, but _boot camp_ sounded like torture. 

“Harimann’s was hiring a sous chef, so I jumped ship. The pay’s better but I miss the customers.” At least the crew at Harimann’s made it all worth it, and she didn't miss the monotony of being a line cook.

“Congratulations!” Katriela smiled, but one of her personal training clients pulled her away with questions. 

There was time for a spin around the gym before heading to work (all the more reason not to break a sweat—the kitchen was hot enough). 

Bright orange hair caught her eye—what was Aveline doing here? The guards had their own gym so they didn't have to sweat with the masses, but here she was on her back on the bench. 

Isabela shouldn't have been surprised. If Aveline wasn't such a prig, Isabela would have sworn she was on steroids. 

And she was here with a _man_? Isabela was shocked. Even from a distance, he was quite the specimen. 

 _A new recruit?_ she wondered, drawing closer. Well-built though he was, he looked far too easygoing to be a prospective guard.

“You're on fire, Aveline,” the man said, keeping his hands near the bar while Aveline lifted what looked to be a lot of weight. 

“That's just her hair,” said Isabela. But Aveline and her gentleman spotter acted as if they didn't notice her. Isabela frowned. 

Aveline let out a loud grunt as she pushed once more. 

Her spotter grinned. “Nice!” 

Isabela tried again. “That's not at all what I thought you'd sound like with a man on top of you.”

Aveline narrowed her eyes— _Success_ —and with a yell, she made a final push. The man helped her get the bar in place and she panted.

“I must say, I'm disappointed you let a man on top at all,” said Isabela.

Aveline sat up, trying to catch her breath. “He is spotting me, you trollop.” 

“I take it you two know each other?” said her spotter. Up close, he was quite handsome, though Isabela had her suspicions he wasn't interested in either of them. 

“I'm more curious about how you two know each other,” said Isabela.

Aveline was breathing fine now. “Hawke is a friend.”

“Hawke?” Isabela raised an eyebrow and looked him up and down. “So you’re Varric’s new bodyguard? He's got excellent taste.”

She'd have to give Varric a hard time. He had conspicuously avoided mentioning Hawke’s sculpted face and sculpted _everything_. Had she known, she would have made time to stop by his shop. 

Aveline glared at Hawke. “I thought you were making coffee and managing the stockroom.”

“Oops.” Isabela put a hand over her mouth. “Didn't mean to get you in trouble with the big girl over here.”

“I’m just the IT guy. All above board,” said Hawke, crossing his large arms over his broad chest. Aveline didn't look any more convinced than Isabela.

“I'm Isabela, but I don't suppose that dwarf mentioned me by name.”

“It's nice to meet you, Isabela” he said, extending a hand. It was a shame he wasn't interested—his handshake was delightful. 

“All right, IT guy,” said Aveline. She stood up and dusted off her gloves. “It's your turn.”

Isabela smiled. “Yes, show us what sitting at a desk all day does to a body.”

Hawke took the bench and Isabela admired the view.

“Shall I adjust the weight?” Aveline offered. 

“It's probably fine.” But Hawke didn't sound sure. 

Aveline took the spotting position. “I'll be right here if you need me,” she said.

“Always better on top,” said Isabela. “But perhaps you've never had the pleasure.”

“I was married, tramp.”

Isabela rolled her eyes. “And there's nothing more exciting than married sex.”

Hawke was waiting on the bench. “Are you two done?”

“I suppose,” Isabela groaned. At least this would be a good show. 

Hawke picked up the bar and immediately looked like he regretted it. Aveline bent her knees.

“Got it?” she asked.

Hawke grunted and slowly began to straighten his arms. “Got it.”

“You can do this. Keep it up.” Aveline urged him on, but the bar wasn't going anywhere. Sweat was beading at Hawke’s brow and his arms were beginning to shake. 

“Nope,” he cried out. Aveline was quick with the bar, setting it back on the rack with ease. Isabela burst out laughing. 

“You really should have adjusted the weight,” scolded Aveline. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Hawke gasped.

Once Isabela was calm enough to speak, she said, “I guess you really do sit on your ass all day.”

Aveline narrowed her eyes, but before she could scold her, Hawke pulled himself to a sitting position. “She's right. It's been a bad year and I should have known better."

“Yes, you should have,” said Aveline, looking a bit surprised. In Isabela’s experience, it took a pretty big man to admit weakness, and she was impressed. _Only because the bar is so low._

“You're damn good, Vallen,” he said, chest heaving less and less. “Take 50 off. I'm getting back in there.”

It was all so adorable that Isabela couldn't resist ribbing Aveline. “Never thought I'd meet a man who wasn't afraid of you.” 

“Afraid of her? I _need_ her,” said Hawke. “She’s going to whip me back into shape and in return, I’ll do anything she wants.”

Isabela’s eyes widened in delight. “Clearly I misjudged you, Aveline.”

“Would you please stop saying it like that?” Aveline groaned at Hawke. To Isabela, she added, “No actual whips are involved, as I’m sure you knew.”

“Damn,” said Hawke. 

“Pity,” said Isabela, at the same moment. She _liked_ Hawke. “You know Hawke, when you get bored of this killjoy, I _do_ have a few actual whips.”

Hawke laughed. “Was that supposed to surprise me?”

It wasn't a _yes_ , but Isabela was intrigued enough to come out for Wicked Grace. Any friend of Varric’s had to be interesting, and it had been a while.

He and Aveline had resumed lifting, and Hawke was doing much better with the lower weight. Sweat beaded at his brow as Aveline encouraged each grunt he made. 

Isabela stretched her arms high over her head.  “Well, I don't know about you two, but I've worked up quite a sweat. Better quit while I'm ahead.” They ignored her and she sighed. “I'll see you around, Hawke. Prig.”

“I heard that, harlot,” snapped Aveline as Isabela turned to leave.

The corner of Isabela’s lip quirked up. In truth, her job made her sweat much more than the gym ever did. Something about the hot stove and endless orders…

She freshened up at home regardless and changed into her work clothes. As she was putting the finishing touch ups on her makeup, her phone buzzed.

Isabela smiled at the notification. Texts from Merrill always made her smile.

_My class ended early so I'm getting coffee. Can I get you anything?_

_No need, you sweet thing,_ Isabela responded. _Just let me know where to pick you up._

Merrill sent her location with a smiling face—a coffee shop near campus. 

Merrill’s school was on the way to work, but Isabela would have driven across town for her. She was a good student, but sometimes Merrill needed an extra boost of confidence, especially when it came to work. At least she seemed much happier since switching to hostess.

“Good morning!” Merrill’s smile lit up her face. She had a tea latte in one hand and her phone in the other. 

“Merrill, I love you, but you are much too cheerful for someone with summer classes at 8 o'clock in the morning.”

Merrill giggled. “Didn't you go to the gym this morning? I've never been motivated enough to go to the gym at all, let alone before the sun comes up.”

“That's because you're perfect just the way you are,” said Isabela as Merrill climbed into the car. 

“You always say such nice things,” Merrill said. 

Isabela parked behind the restaurant. “Well, you know how the lunch crowd is. I want you to start the day off on the right foot.”

Merrill pulled her hair up into a bun. “It's not so bad. I'm sure their jobs are stressful.”

“You're too good for this world, Kitten,” said Isabela. No matter how many times she came to work, she'd never get used to the stark, gothic Harimann estate. It made her long for the greasy spoons where she got her start, but it did pay better. If she was going to open her own place, she needed to save money, so she sucked it up yet again and greeted the opening crew.

The morning passed in a blur and when Isabela finally got a break, it was already close to dinner and everyone else was getting ready. She took the last of the lunch soup to the break room and scrolled idly through her notifications. 

Isabela dismissed all the dating app alerts—she did not have the energy to roll her eyes that hard right now. But there was a text from Varric.

_Cards tonight?_

Thinking back to the gym this morning, Isabela smirked and typed her reply. _That depends. Will your bodyguard be there?_

Varric started typing immediately. _I don't go anywhere without Hawke._

 _I guess you'll just have to learn to share_ , replied Isabela. _I met him this morning and he's too much man for you._

Another quick reply came. _And you think you can handle him?_ Then, a moment later, _Don't answer that._

Isabela laughed to herself. _Where did you dig him up anyway?_

 _Middle of nowhere, Ferelden. But you'll like this._ Varric sent a link to an article. _His father was a rock star._

Isabela raised and eyebrow and tapped the link. “Blood Mage?” she muttered. “Never heard of them.”

Once the photo loaded, she recognized Maric Theirin (who hadn't aged a day) and Loghain Mac Tir (not quite as lucky) under outrageous hairstyles and more makeup than Isabela owned. Their rivalry was the stuff of rock legend, but Isabela had no idea they were once in the same band. 

Two other men were in the picture, and her eyes landed on Malcolm Hawke. 

The family resemblance was strong, and Malcolm had the same glint in his eye. There was next to no info about him, only that he had a family and had died about 10 years ago. She assumed the Hawke she met today was in his mid-twenties. 

 _Poor Hawke_ , she thought. 

She tried to find more info on Malcolm Hawke, but all she found were conspiracy theories about Maric’s secret love child. At least it was a better way to spend her lunch than deleting obnoxious messages from desperate men. She really needed to find an app with more women. 

Dinner was busy as always, but Isabela’s new entree was a hit. Once the kitchen was clean and she had swapped her work clothes for a tank and cutoffs, she met Merrill in the back.

Merrill had already changed into a sundress and she grinned as she slung her backpack over her shoulder.

Isabela marveled at her. “I'm amazed you're still smiling after a double shift.”

“I'm just excited to go to a bar with a real ID,” Merrill exclaimed. 

Merrill’s birthday had been three weeks ago. “Don't ever lose that enthusiasm, Kitten,” Isabela said as they headed out. 

Varric was waiting at the usual table, shuffling a deck of cards. Isabela recognized Hawke’s broad shoulders from the back, opposite Varric. 

“You made it!” Varric said with a grin. “Been a while.”

Hawke turned and smiled, recognizing her.

“I'm more surprised there was something left of Hawke when Aveline was done with him,” she said, tracing a finger along the back of Hawke’s chair. 

“Believe me, I'm going to be sore tomorrow,” he said, matching Isabela’s sultry tone.

“Shit,” said Varric. “What have I done?”

Merrill scrunched up her nose in thought. “I've missed something dirty, haven't I?”

“Daisy, allow me to introduce Hawke,” said Varric. “Unless you've already met him, too.”

“Oh, no, I don't think so.” Merrill put a finger to her lips. “Though I can be forgetful sometimes.”

“Not me,” said Hawke. “Mind like a steel trap.”

“Her name is Merrill,” Isabela said, sitting down. “And don't believe him if he told you my name’s _Rivaini_.” She shot Varric a dark look.

Hawke smiled at Merrill and they shook hands. “It’s nice to meet you, Merrill. How do you know Varric and Isabela?”

“Isabela and I work together. She saved my job, actually. If I spilled soup on one more customer I'm sure they would have fired me.”

“Oh, do you work at a restaurant?” asked Hawke. “Which one? I'd love to go.”

“Harimann’s,” said Isabela. 

Hawke winced, and she couldn't blame him. “Or not.” 

“Sounds like Varric needs to pay you more,” Isabela suggested. When she started her own restaurant, meals weren't going to cost the same as a monthly car payment, but her bank account wasn't there yet.

“You work for Varric?” Merrill asked. “That's right, you asked me how I knew him. I met him through Isabela because they're always here.”

“In my defense, I live here,” said Varric. 

Isabela cocked an eyebrow. “That's a defense?”

“Can't beat the inspiration,” he replied with a shrug. “Shall I deal?”

“Drinks first!” Merrill giggled. “How does everyone feel about rum and cola? Tips were good tonight.”

“That sounds perfect,” said Isabela. 

“Okay, but let me get the next round.” Hawke grinned, adding, “That is, if Varric’s check doesn't bounce.”

“If you want a raise that badly, we can negotiate,” Varric said. “I suppose the _Hawke Needs His Own Place_ Foundation is a worthy cause.”

Merrill went to get the drinks, and Isabela turned to Hawke. “You're not sleeping on Varric’s couch are you?”

“Worse,” he said. “My brother’s.”

“You have a brother?” Her lips crept up in a sly smile. “There's a third handsome Hawke man?”

Hawke knitted his brows. “I'm sorry?”

“I looked up your father online. You certainly inherited his good looks.”

Hawke let out a loud laugh. “How can you tell? I'm not wearing any makeup.”

“Does your brother wear makeup?" asked Isabela. "Because it's not a deal breaker.” 

“My brother is the definition of a _deal breaker_ ,” said Hawke. 

“What a shame.” 

“So Varric told you about the band, huh?” Hawke didn't look mad but Varric looked sheepish anyway.

“I may have sent her an article to pique her curiosity," he admitted.

“There wasn't much about your father anyway,” said Isabela. "I take it he didn't bring the drama like Maric and Loghain."

“My dad was content to be a family man.” Hawke swirled the whiskey in his cup, ice clinking against the side. Isabela thought a change of subject was in order.

“I didn't even realize Maric Theirin was in a band.” 

“After Loghain jumped ship for Landsmeet, I think all of them wanted to forget it ever happened.” Hawke frowned and Isabela wondered if she had chosen another sore subject. She doubled down.

“You know, Maric came through Kirkwall on his last tour, and I somehow found myself in his hotel room.  You would not believe the things—”

Hawke smirked. “Try me. The man is my godfather, or he was until my mother banned him from the house for sharing too many stories. Something about cocaine, a hot tub, and a six-way.”

“And how old were you when he told you this?” Varric wondered.

“Oh, 17 or 18. But Mom never forgave him for spilling the beans about her being a groupie,” he said, grinning again. 

Isabela burst out laughing. “That's fantastic.”

Merrill returned with the cocktails. She had no trouble carrying a tray of drinks to her friends, but her nerves got the best of her at work. “What did I miss?”

“Hawke's father was a rock star and Maric Theirin is his godfather;” said Isabela.

Merrill nodded, as if that made perfect sense. Once she sat down, Varric started to deal the cards.

“Wait,” said Merrill. Everyone turned to her but she looked at Isabela. “Didn't you handcuff him to his bed when he was on tour here last year?”

Isabela smiled. “Why yes, I did.”

Hawke rubbed his temples and downed the rest of his whiskey. When he looked up, he was smiling, too. 

“I guess that makes you my godmother, then,” he said. 

Varric and Merrill laughed, and Isabela knew she and Hawke were going to get along just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing Isabela, especially with Aveline or Merrill. It's also tons of fun to dive into Hawke's backstory (which is fully fleshed out for no good reason). Someday I might write a spinoff about Blood Mage because it's all there ready to go lol. Thanks for reading!


	4. Still Clumsy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill and Carver catch up in class and meet the world's worst teaching assistant.

Merrill had successfully put off her philosophy requirement for three years, but according to her advisor, she wouldn't be able to graduate without it.

It wasn't that she didn't like philosophy or wasn't good at it—there were just so many interesting classes more directly related to art history that she wanted to take first.

She supposed it could give her perspective on certain works of art, but she very much doubted an introductory class would cover non-human philosophy, let alone Dalish philosophy.

Her spirits lifted when she saw Carver Hawke sitting in the far corner of the lecture hall. They had always had nice chats in Introduction to Elven Music last year. “Carver! I didn't realize you were taking this class.”

Carver looked up from his phone and almost dropped it when he saw her. _Still clumsy I see,_ she thought with a smile. Hawke didn't talk about Carver much at Wicked Grace. Merrill couldn't understand why. They were both so nice.

“Merrill,” he said. “Yes, I am. What are you doing here?”

“Taking the class same as you, I suspect.” Merrill pointed at the empty seat next to him. “Is it all right if I sit here?”

“Of course,” he said. “Let me just make some room.”

 _He still talks very fast, too_ , she noted.

Carver moved his backpack to the other side and pushed his things away from hers.

“Don't worry,” she said. “I've got plenty of space.”

“You are quite petite,” said Carver, as if he had forgotten.

Merrill giggled. “And you're quite large.”

Carver coughed and Merrill wondered if she had said something odd again. Carver was always very nice about it when she did.

He put his phone away and took out a laptop. He must have been excited for class. Merrill didn't like lugging her laptop around, but perhaps she simply wasn't a serious enough student.

“I hardly see anyone using pens and paper anymore,” she said to Carver. “I really should start typing my notes like everyone else.”

He frowned. “But you have such nice handwriting. I'm just lazy.”

“Oh no, you're very studious! I'm sure you can type much faster than I can write. But thank you. I didn't know you watched me write.”

“I–I didn't mean to.” He cleared his throat. “Remember that project we did last year? You took the group notes and made copies for everyone. You had the neatest handwriting.”

Merrill remembered the project, but she had forgotten about the notes. “I do practice a lot. It's much better than it once was.”

Carver opened his mouth to say something but then closed it again. After looking around the room, his eyes fell on her again. “Did you have that tattoo last year?”

Merrill wasn't sure which he was talking about. She had gotten a few over the summer.

“This one?” she asked, pulling aside the neck of her top to show the full extent of the markings around her clavicle. Carver nodded stiffly. “Oh, do you not like it?”

He coughed again. “Of course I do. It’s just—Merrill, you might want to—” He nodded at her chest.

Merrill looked down. The top of that side of her bra was showing. “Oh! I'm sorry,” she said. She replaced her shirt and tried to cover her embarrassment with a giggle. “I'm sure you didn't want to see that.”

Carver must have had a frog in his throat. “Your tattoo is very nice,” he said, his skin going pink (from the cough, Merrill assumed). “Where did you have it done?”

“Back in Sundermount, while I was visiting a friend. I didn't know you were interested in tattoos. Do you have any? I'd love to see.”

Carver’s eyes went wide. “I…” No more words came. It was funny how shy he was compared to Hawke.

“Your brother has a lovely tattoo on his back. It's very well done.”

Maybe Carver was getting sick. Merrill was just about to offer him some water when he found words. “You know my brother?! Maker, even after he moves out I can't escape him. And when did he—”

The professor (Merrill couldn't remember his name from her schedule) chose that moment to walk in and the class fell silent. He was stocky with red hair and a beard, but his face looked kind.

“Welcome to Introduction to Philosophy.” The professor paused to write his name— _Thrask_ —on the whiteboard. “I know many of you are here only because you have to be, but just because this class is required doesn't mean it won't benefit each and every one of you.”

Someone snorted. “Because there's nothing more inspiring than a compulsory course.”

Merrill hadn't even noticed the man sitting in a corner of the front of the room. He was blond and thin, and he might have been handsome had he not looked so cross.

Professor Thrask sighed. “This is Anders, my graduate assistant. He will be happy to help you with anything you need.”

Anders gave the class a tight smile. “I'll even pretend like philosophy is something I've studied. Which it isn't.”

Merrill leaned over to whisper in Carver’s ear. “Sounds like he's trying to get out of doing work.”

Carver stifled a laugh.

“I didn't make the assignments,” groaned Professor Thrask. “Just take attendance, please.”

Anders muttered something that sounded like, “I’m not even going to school to become a teacher,” but he did as he was told.

The rest of the class passed without event. There was never much to do on the first day, and it was too big of a class to do the usual introductions. Just before she left, Merrill caught a glimpse of Anders and Professor Thrask having a serious discussion.

“That was painful,” said Carver. He pulled a water bottle from his bag and took a drink. Merrill wondered why he hadn't done that sooner.

“It was, wasn't it? I'm glad it's my last class today,” Merrill said.

He cleared his throat. “Are you doing anything later? Later today?”

“I'm meeting some friends for cards,” Merrill said. “I think your brother will be there.”

“You don't say.” Carver sounded much less cheerful now. She was beginning to suspect he and Hawke did not get along. Merrill was an only child, so she would probably never understand, but she had always wanted a sibling to fight with.

“We’ll be at The Hanged Man,” she said. “You should come.”

“Well, luckily for my brother, I'm underage,” Carver muttered. He sounded a bit angry now. Merrill hoped it was nothing she had said. She's had her birthday over the summer, so being underage was a fresh memory (even though Isabela had gotten her a fake ID).

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Even if she asked Isabela to get him a fake ID, it probably wouldn't be ready by tonight. She smiled at Carver. “At least we have a class together this semester."

At this, Carver smiled. He had such a nice smile. “I'll see you Tuesday,” he said.

Merrill dropped her things off at her apartment and had a quick dinner. She looked herself over in the mirror and sighed. Isabela always looked so beautiful and she didn't even seem to try.

She straightened her flowy top and giggled, remembering the exchange with Carver. It was fun to see him flustered, but he was such a gentleman.

As she headed out to meet Isabela, the thought did occur to her that Carver might not have been fighting a sore throat.

As expected, Isabela looked lovely. “How are your classes going, Kitten?” she asked.

“Art and the Qun seems like it will be fascinating,” Merrill replied. “I'm not sure about the others yet.”

“We miss seeing your pretty smile at work every night,” Isabela said. “Feynriel just isn't as charming as you are.”

“I'm sure he does just fine. Besides, I’m smiling now, and I'm working on Saturday.”

“And you need time for your studies,” Isabela said. “But you also need time to relax.”

Merrill laughed. “The semester only started on Monday.”

“Is that all?” Isabela pouted her lips to think. “Seems like it's been longer.”

Heads always turned when Isabela walked into The Hanged Man, or anywhere. But Varric was always the first to greet her.

“Rivaini!” He flashed an easy smile. “Oh good, you brought Daisy.”

Hawke turned to look at them, eyes wide. “Don't you have classes tomorrow, Merrill?”

“No concern for me?” Isabela said. She gave his chair a soft kick but Hawke didn't budge.

“Even if you had to work in an hour, you'd still be here,” Hawke replied.

“And I'll drink to that, once I have a drink.” Isabela pulled some money out of her bra, and Merrill wondered if she kept anything else in there. “What are you having, Kitten?”

Merrill kept her money in her pocket. “Something sweet sounds nice. But I can pay for it.”

“Nonsense, you just cut your hours. I'll get you a lemon drop.”

“You're so kind to me,” Merrill said, taking the seat next to Hawke. “I can't imagine why.”

“Everyone should be sweet to you. If they aren't, they can answer to me.” She turned to Hawke and Varric. “You two need anything?”

Hawke shook his head but Varric held up his beer and tapped the bottle.

As Isabela went to get the drinks, Merrill turned to Hawke.

“Have I told you I know your brother?” she asked.

Hawke tilted his head. “Well, you go to the same school, don't you?”

“Hawke, there are 40,000 students at UK,” said Varric. “This isn't Lothering.”

“I’m not that drunk yet,” Hawke said, downing more whiskey. “I just never thought about it before.”

“I have a class with him. He seemed a little upset when I mentioned you,” she said.

Hawke sighed. “Carver was upset when I was born.”

Merrill was about to point out that Carver was younger, but maybe that was the point. Isabela returned and placed a drink in front of Merrill, then took the seat between her and Varric.

“He must have been thrilled when you got your own place. And you must be thrilled to be rid of the little brother cock block.” Isabela tasted her rum and smiled.

“Carver and I do better with distance between us,” Hawke said, ignoring her latter statement.

“Still no one warming your bed?” Isabela wondered. “And if you say something about your dog right now, I swear I will slap that smirk off your face.”

Hawke kept smirking but said no more. Merrill realized she hadn't tried her drink yet. She had a sip—sweet and sour, how did Isabela always know?

“Does Carver have a pet to keep his bed warm?” she asked. Isabela and Varric snickered and Merrill realized her question could be misconstrued.

Hawke shrugged. “I’d be the last to know, but my money’s on _no_.”

“Speaking of money, why don't we get started?” Varric asked, bringing out the cards. “But by all means, continue this conversation.”

Isabela won the first round, taking everyone’s coins. They could have played for more money, but Merrill suspected everyone else was going easily on her because she had tuition bills.

“That settles it,” said Isabela. “Now I have to meet your brother.”

“Just imagine me, but taller, dour, and with less hair,” Hawke said.

Isabela’s eyes lit up. “Taller, you say?”

“You could just come to my shop,” said Varric, dealing the second hand. “Junior’s been known to pop in every now and then.”

“Really?” Hawke put in his bet.

Varric smirked. “Only on your days off. Classic younger brother move.”

Merrill definitely didn't understand siblings, but her friends were starting to feel like family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter Anders! Carver is in for a treat.


	5. Ser Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris stays sharp, even while drunk. Hawke does not.

Fenris missed very few things about Tevinter, and all of them were beverages. Free Marchers drank terrible wine, and worse coffee. Some things were worth the sacrifice, but the last swill of whatever was in his bottle chipped at his resolve.

 _No._ Cult wine was not worth that life. And the biggest problem with terrible malt beverages was that they were watered down.

He would need coin to drink, and he would need a job to get coin. He hadn't seen a mirror since he crossed the border, but Fenris was not in denial about his appearance. Even on his best day, he was intimidating.

The bars would be closing soon, and that meant he had to worry about the Kirkwall guard as well as Kirkwall’s many gangs.

The scene was nowhere near as complicated as the Tevinter underground and lacked the sophistication of Orlais, but Fenris didn't want the nuisance. A hooligan with nothing to lose could be just as dangerous as a professional.

Fenris walked alone, weaving a twisted path to keep it that way. The streets were mostly silent, until the bars let out.

Blending in was not an option for him, so he didn't join the crowd. Observing from a distance was safer. The malt liquor was wearing off and he'd need some place comfortable if he wanted any sleep at all. Kirkwall was low on green space, at least in Lowtown. Maybe he could find a place in Hightown?

A hiss interrupted his thoughts.

“Hand over your wallet.” A gang member. One of the Sharps, judging by the neighborhood.

Then, a click of a tongue. “Fine, but you picked the wrong target. I haven't got any money and my credit is terrible.”

The target was drunk. _Drunk and stupid,_ Fenris thought.

“Just shut up and hand it over!”

A _flick_ told him there was a blade. Fenris crept closer.

“See, if you'd have just asked nicely, I'd have given you the little bit cash I have.”

 _Does he have a death wish?_ Fenris picked up speed. It was none of his business, but he'd hate to see blood shed over something so stupid.

In the dim light, the victim was larger than the attacker. Kirkwall gangs weren't that stupid. There had to be more lurking around.

The target swooped as the Sharp lunged. Fenris was impressed. Even drunk, this mouthy man was no slouch.

“Please don't force my hand,” said the target. “I just did laundry.”

“Now you're just pissing me off!” The attacker swooped again. Fenris was poised to strike but the target put his attacker in a hold, twisting his blade arm to get as much distance as possible. Exactly what Fenris would have done. _Except I wouldn't have mouthed off in the first place._

“Shit!” the attacker swore. “Help!”

And then there were three men, and three knives. Fenris was there before they could jump. A jab to the eyes took care of the smallest. They shouted to each other.

“Is that an elf?”

“Couldn't be!”

Another lunged for Fenris but a knee to the gut had him doubled over. The Sharp scampered back before Fenris could take him down, and the third reinforcement was gone.

In the panic, the drunk man lost his grip and found himself under the knife again. Fenris lunged, curling a hand around the attacker’s throat.

“Lower your blade,” Fenris snarled.

“Right,” gasped the Sharp. He was young. His blade clattered to the ground but Fenris did not ease up.

“I have been further down this path than you can imagine. Turn back,” Fenris growled. He pushed the man back, releasing his grip. The attacker disappeared into the night, clutching his neck.

That left the target. He was slack-jawed but no worse for the wear. Tall, soberer now but still drunk, and wide-eyed.

“Thank you,” he said. The accent was Fereldan. “You're ridiculously quick.”

“You,” Fenris began, “are a fool.” 

The man cracked his neck. “That's fair.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. Perhaps this man had not been worth helping. “Next time, you may find yourself with no one to rescue you.”

“Then I'm lucky you came along.”

Fenris couldn't see his face well, but there was no trace of snark now. _What is he playing at?_

“Try not to get yourself killed on the way home,” Fenris growled. He turned to leave and his legs almost gave out. The fight had taken more out of him than he realized. It probably had something to do with a lack of sleep, food, and water as well.

“Wait. Where are you headed? Can I offer you a place to stay or a meal? I know I can't make it up to you, but I'd like to try.”

Fenris turned. Was this naivety? A proposition? The last option was the most foreign: kindness?

“I’ll survive.”

“You look worse than I feel and I lost count of drinks somewhere around shot number 7,” he said. “At the least, let me offer you food and water."

Fenris was no fool. “I don't need your charity.”

The man looked genuinely confused. “It's gratitude. I can tell you're exhausted, and I'm sure you know your own limits.” When Fenris didn't reply, he added, “My mouth might get me in trouble, but your pride is no better.”

Fenris sighed. His stomach chose that moment to growl audibly. “Fine.”

He was not so tired that he would be unable to gouge this man’s eyes if the need arose.

Fenris followed the man a few blocks to a modest apartment complex. He kept waiting for the man to round on him, but the attack never came. All he did was yawn. Fenris’s own eyes were getting heavy.

At the door, a mabari hound greeted the man and Fenris could not tell who was happier to see the other. It was all so very Fereldan, he almost forgot where he was.

“Hello, Wrex! Have you been a good boy today? Of course you have.” He glanced up at Fenris. “Please be kind to this man. He saved my life today.”

Wrex panted and let out a soft bark of thanks. Fenris couldn't help but respect mabari hounds. Like him, they came from Tevinter but found it unpalatable. Mabari were so synonymous with Fereldans now, their origins didn't matter. Fenris hoped he could escape his, too.

“It’s not much, but I can make you soup,” the man said. “Go ahead and take your shoes—” he looked down and took in Fenris’s bare feet, “I mean, make yourself comfortable. I'll get you some water.”

There was no judgement on his face. Fenris would have eaten anything, so he merely nodded. He watched the man fill a glass with tap water and bring it to him.

It didn't smell of poison, not that the man would have had a chance to poison it with Fenris watching. _This is not Tevinter_ , he reminded himself. He drank the water without taking a breath. “Thank you.”

“Let me get you some more.”

After fetching another glass of water, the man busied himself preparing canned soup. “Sit down if you like,” he said.

Fenris was still standing in a corner, eyes flicking between the windows and doors. He sat down on the floor, and the man didn't comment. Wrex sat down next to him and rested his head on his massive paws.

The man handed him a bowl of soup and a spoon with a nod. The apartment was dim and he was tired, but up close, the man’s face was not unpleasant. Fenris wasted no time in eating the soup.

“I’ll understand if you leave, but you're welcome to sleep on my couch. I've got to go to bed for work tomorrow, but there are towels and blankets in the bathroom closet.” He pointed down the hall. “Use my shower if you like. I'll leave out some clothes you can borrow, or just have some more food and water. My home is yours.”

Fenris blinked at the empty bowl. “I...thank you.”

“Thank _you_ ,” the man said. “Sometimes I forget that Lowtown isn't Lothering.”

Fenris had not heard of Lothering.

Soon, the man retired to his room, followed closely by Wrex. He made no fuss about it and yet he had gone to a great deal of trouble.

If this was an assassination plot by Danarius, it was a convoluted one. Fenris didn't know what to make of it, but an opportunity like this wasn't going to come his way again.

Focusing on one task at a time so as not to lose his nerve, he finished all the soup, drank another glass of water, showered, changed, and fell asleep on the couch. He never heard more than a snore—whether it was from the man or the dog, Fenris couldn't tell.

\----------

Something cold and wet was in Fenris’s hand. Hot air ( _Breath_?) passed over his arm. Was he dreaming?

Fenris blinked open his eyes. The room was bright and a large mabari hound was demanding to be pet.

 _Wrex_ , he remembered. _That explains the hot breath._ Wrex licked his hand. Fenris rose to a sitting position and patted his head. He looked around the room. _That's right. This is that man’s apartment._

Fenris had no idea what time it was. He searched for a clock, but there was nothing on the walls. The longer he was awake, the harder his heart pumped. Last night, he had been far too exhausted to care, but now it sank in. He had fallen asleep in a stranger’s apartment.

 _Did you hit your head in the struggle_? Fenris admonished himself. He couldn't believe he had done something so stupid.

And yet, he was fine. He was fed, showered, and well rested. Nothing had happened but kindness.

It was unnerving. Surely the man expected something from him.

Wrex nuzzled his hand and Fenris frowned. _This mabari is far too trusting._

As far as he could tell, it was just the two of them. Was the man still sleeping? It was bright enough outside to suggest it was late in the morning.

Fenris stood and began to investigate. Wrex followed him around the apartment happily, but they were indeed alone. In the kitchen, Fenris found a clock—it was after 11 o'clock, if the microwave was to be believed—and a note.

_Ser Hero,_

_Thank you again for rescuing me last night. Sometimes I forget that Kirkwall is, well, Kirkwall. I had to go to work, but your clothing is washed and in the dryer. Hope you don't mind. Help yourself to coffee or anything else in the kitchen. That goes for the entire apartment. You are welcome to stay as long as you like, but I understand if you have things to do. Either way, please accept my gratitude. My home is yours. If you are still around, I'll be back by 1:00. Just so you aren't surprised._

_I hope you aren't allergic to dogs. Wrex seems to like you._

_With endless gratitude,  
_ _Hawke_

Fenris read the letter twice, looking for subtext. He turned to Wrex.

“Does your Hawke make a habit of leaving himself open to robbery, Wrex?”

Wrex gave a happy bark at his name. Perhaps he could tell Fenris was not going to steal anything. Or perhaps there was a reason muggers had targeted Hawke in spite of his height and build.

It would be unwise to stay, but there was no harm in making coffee. Fenris eyed a bottle of wine and a few bottles of cheap liquor on top of the fridge. _He said to make myself at home._ It was tempting, but also unwise.

Hawke had been kind enough to leave coffee, a grinder, filters, and a mug out for him. A bag of bread sat on the counter next to the toaster as well, as if inviting him to eat.

 _Whole bean coffee?_ Fenris was surprised. He hadn't had the luxury since leaving Tevinter, but he assumed most bachelors didn't care. _Assuming Hawke is not married_. But this was not the apartment of a married man.

 _Seheron Gold_ , the bag read. For all of their ills, Tevinters knew good coffee, and it was one of the only things keeping relations with the Qunari in balance. He hadn't realized the variety had made it this far south. In his experience, coffee in the Free Marches tasted like tar, but then again, even gas station coffee was a rare treat for him. When he opened the bag, the aroma soothed his nerves.

This Hawke was an interesting fellow. While the coffee brewed, Fenris walked around the front room, more to stretch his legs than to snoop. Half-unpacked cardboard boxes were pushed against the wall. Hawke had not lived here long. There was no TV, but a laptop sat on the kitchen table. Clearly, Hawke was not concerned about his possessions. Free weights were stacked in the corner, but these were apparently the only things Hawke had bothered to unpack.

The coffee pot beeped and Fenris poured himself a cup. Seheron Gold was meant to be enjoyed black, and he intended to savor it. After all, he would be leaving soon and there was no telling when he'd be able to have it again.

He sat down on the couch—surprisingly comfortable, as his back was not complaining—and took a deep breath, inhaling the rich, toasty scent. The bean was renowned for its low acidity and chestnut flavor, and this was no knock-off.

It was almost a shame he'd have to leave.

But where would he go? The job with Athenril was, of course, a scam. Fenris had no intention of working the underground again. He had seen enough trauma to last a lifetime.

What did Hawke do? Either he lived well below his means or he spent all of his money on coffee. Both sounded attractive to Fenris.

He hadn't gotten a good look at Hawke last night, but from what he remembered, Hawke was attractive, too.

_I'm sure that's the only reason he's being so hospitable. He intends to push his advantage, just like everyone else._

But he hadn't last night. And now he left his house open to a stranger. Fenris got the feeling that even if he did intend to rob Hawke, Hawke would have shrugged and said, “He must have needed it more than I did.”

Perhaps he could stay just a little bit longer. It wasn't like he had anything better to do, and soon it would be after noon and he could justify a bit of wine.

_Don't. You may need your full faculties._

Once he finished a second cup of coffee, he found the dryer (trying not to poke around more than necessary) and changed into his clothes. He wanted to wash the ones he had borrowed, but there wasn’t enough laundry for a load. He settled for folding them carefully and placing them on the washer.

Returning to the front room, he eyed the small shelf by the door. It held only a few books. The latest release from Varric Tethras sat on top of the pile with a bookmark a third of the way in. Even Tevinter high society enjoyed his books, and Fenris found them amenable as well. Some computer programming textbooks sat below it—perhaps Hawke was a programmer. Fenris could speak Tevene, Qunlat, and the common tongue, but computer languages were completely foreign to him. Beneath those, a book on strength training. That was it.

Tethras it was, then.

Just when the hunger was getting too strong to fight, Wrex started panting and wagging his tail, and Fenris’s back went stiff. It must have been around one o’clock because this had to be Hawke. The doorknob turned and Wrex was pawing at the frame.

 _Wait._ Fenris heard no keys. Had Hawke even used his lock?

Hawke was already bending to pet his dog when he pushed the door open. “Hey, boy! Did you miss me! I hope you let our houseguest get some sleep.”

Hawke finally looked past his dog and met Fenris’s eyes. He was much younger than Fenris remembered. _Not unattractive at all._

“You should lock your door,” said Fenris.

Hawke shut the door behind him and kicked off his shoes. “I don't need locks. I've got Wrex.”

Fenris frowned. “This morning, he wouldn't stop licking my hand until I woke up to pet him."

“See? He's an excellent judge of character.”

If he hadn't seen Hawke stumbling last night, he wouldn't have believed that he had been drunk. He had no trace of a hangover.

“Thank you for the coffee. I didn't realize the Qunari varieties were popular here.”

Hawke was freshening up Wrex’s food and water. Just going about his business, as if Fenris was always here. “I'll tell my boss. He does all the sourcing.”

“You work in a coffee shop?” Fenris asked.

“Coffee shop _slash_ bookstore,” said Hawke, raising his voice to talk over the running water as he washed his hands.

“That sounds,” Fenris paused, not wanting to sound too enthused, “interesting.”

“Did you eat yet?” Hawke asked. Before Fenris could shake his head, Hawke was into the fridge. “Turkey sandwich?”

“I…” Fenris sighed. “Thank you.”

He could leave at any time, but he could not afford to turn down food.

“Cheese? Mustard? I promise everything's in date.”

“I’m not picky,” Fenris said. “You are far too hospitable.”

“I could say the same for you,” said Hawke as he assembled sandwiches. “My memory is a little fuzzy, but I was practically asking to be shivved last night.”

“You may want to avoid that in the future.”

Hawke put a sandwich paper plate in front of Fenris at the coffee table, then ate his own in the kitchen. “So long as I never drink that much again, I think I'll be all right. Now if only I could remember how many I had…”

Fenris couldn't help him with that. They finished their sandwiches in silence, Hawke checking something on his computer as Fenris watched Wrex chew on rawhide.

“My name is Fenris,” he said. Hawke stopped typing.

“Thank you, Fenris.”

“It was nothing.”

But like Hawke’s kindness, perhaps it was more significant than it seemed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favorite chapter so far (and it's twice as long as the others), but it's also my least favorite because I love Fenris, I love Hawke/Fenris, but this is a Hawke/Anders story and if you've read Fresh Air, then you know Fenris has an unrequited crush. Please stick with me, because I promise Fenris is not a plot device.


	6. Royalties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very few things tie Carver and Hawke together: blood, Wrex, and now, royalties.

The fact that Garrett’s apartment complex was nicer than his didn't bother Carver one bit.

He pounded on the solid door again. “Open up,” he called.

It was 8:15, so Garrett would have been up for at least a couple hours. Carver put Garrett’s toolbox down on the carpet by his feet and pulled his phone out of his pocket. Just as he found his brother in his contacts, the door swung open.

“About time.” Carver put his phone away and picked up the tools. “I don't know why you _had_ to have—”

He looked up. That was not his brother.

“Can I help you?” An elf with bleached white hair was standing at Garrett’s door. In one of Garrett’s old Redcliffe University T-shirts. The elf was tall, but from the way the sweatpants were bunching at his ankles, Carver assumed those were Garrett’s too.

Carver rolled his eyes. “Oh, very clever, brother. Did you really drag me all the way out here just to show me why you wanted your own place so badly?”

The elf just stared at him, face blank. “I think you have the wrong apartment.”

“No,” said Carver. “I moved that couch. This is my brother’s apartment.”

“And your brother is…”

Well, maybe Carver couldn't blame his brother for not divulging his life story to a one night stand, or whatever this guy was to him.

“Garrett. Is he still sleeping?” That wasn't like him, but Carver didn't want to imagine what would keep his brother all up all night. Nothing registered on the elf’s face. _Unbelievable. Still pretending he owns the name Hawke, I see._ Carver thinned his lips and tried again. “Hawke. Garrett Hawke. My brother.”

Finally, the elf twitched in what might have been a nod. “He's out.”

Carver gaped. “But he called me!” If the apartment wasn’t silent, Carver would have assumed his brother was in his room, laughing his head off.

“I will tell him you came,” said the elf. He bent down but before he could pick up the toolbox, Carver stomped his foot down on the lid.

“Where did he go? I need to talk to him about something.”

The elf narrowed his eyes, not moving from the door. “He's out,” he repeated, louder this time.

 _Maker forbid my brother ever meet a normal guy._ “Look, I’m not trying to ruin your date, but I really am his brother and you didn’t even know his first name.”

The elf just blinked. “This is not a date. I live here.”

“ _Maker’s Breath_.” How long had it been since Garrett moved out? Barely a month and he already had a guy living with him. Maybe they were just roommates, but Carver and Hawke never shared clothes.

Before either of them could say anything else, a bark cut through the silence. Frenzied panting and scraping grew louder as footfalls echoed through the staircase, and then Carver heard his brother.

“What’s got you so excited, Wrex?”

Wrex bounded up the last few stairs and collided with Carver with enough force to shake his foot from the toolbox. Pushing his head into Carver’s welcoming hands, Wrex licked and barked happily. Carver found himself smiling. “Wrex! I see my brother didn't turn you against me!”

“Ah, so you were telling the truth,” said the elf, stepping aside to vacate the doorway.

“Carver!” called Garrett, appearing at the top of the stairs. “I see you met Fenris.”

Carver looked up from Wrex, who was taking all the attention he could give, and frowned at his brother. “Would have been nice if you mentioned you wouldn’t be here when I brought the toolbox you _had_ to have right away.”

“Wrex had to go out,” said Hawke with a shrug. “And I didn’t actually need any tools. Just thought _you_ needed some pretext.”

“Excuse me?” Carver asked, leading Wrex into the apartment. He walked around the couch to sit on it, but it was made up like a bed. Carver started to put the pieces together.

“Your brother has been kind enough to let me stay with him,” said Fenris. He snatched the sheets and balled them up to one side of the couch.

“And yet he didn’t think to mention that he lived on my floor for three months?” Carver grumbled.

“You know I’m eternally grateful,” said Garrett, hauling the toolbox inside and stashing it in his closet.

“I do not plan on imposing for that long,” Fenris said. He was heading down the hall to the bathroom when he added, “I had better get ready for my interview.”

Once the bathroom door closed, Carver looked at Garrett. “So is he your boyfriend or what?”

“Oh, no,” said Garrett. “He sort of saved me from some muggers the other day so I'm trying to repay the favor.”

“You got mugged? When were you going to tell me?”

“Oh, Carver, you do care!” Garrett gushed. Like Wrex, his grin showed all his teeth.

Carver rolled his eyes. “I shouldn't even be surprised. Let me guess: you were wasted. You ran your mouth.”

“It's not important.” Garrett poured some food for Wrex and he finally abandoned Carver. “I need to talk to you.”

“You could have just said that. I need to talk to you, too. We could have done this on the phone,” Carver muttered.

“Sorry to take you away from what I'm sure is a very busy social calendar.” Garrett pulled out some coffee beans as if he hadn't just insulted Carver. “Coffee?”

“I'm fine,” Carver snapped. “Gamlen called me.”

“Let me guess.” said Garrett, scooping beans into his grinder. “He's neck-deep in debt again.”

It was one of the few things they agreed on: Uncle Gamlen was unpleasant. “Did he call you, too?”

“No. But I screen my calls.” Garrett paused to run the coffee grinder. “The call I wanted to talk to you about was much more surprising. Teagan.”

Carver felt a twinge of jealousy at the fact that Teagan had called Garrett and not him, but he was curious enough to look past it. He hadn't heard from Teagan in at least 6 years.

He stood and walked to the kitchen counter so he could hear Garrett better. “Teagan? What did he want?”

“Some medieval show wants to use one of their songs as a theme,” said Garrett. He started the coffee and folded his arms. “ _One Foot In_.”

 _One Foot In_ was practically a funeral dirge, written in rehab after an overdose long before Garrett was born. But Carver knew what that meant. It was one of the few songs that was credited only to Teagan and their father. Carver didn't want to get his hopes up.

“Must be a dark show,” said Carver.

“Teagan said they were pretty tight-lipped on the details, but they were adamant about using the original version. Label’s on board, Teagan’s on board, and now it's up to us.”

“Tell them yes.” Carver didn't even think about it. He didn't understand the way royalties worked in detail—he cashed a minuscule check every few months. But this could be significant.

Garrett’s eyes were unreadable. He tightened his lips, then said, “You sure you're okay with our father’s most personal, painful song being used for some show that might not even be good? What would he think?”

Had Garrett’s face not been so serious, Carver would have thought he was joking.

Carver didn't like listening to Blood Mage in general, but he hadn’t hear that song in years. At the same time, their father had turned his life around soon after. He’d cleaned up even when Theirin and Loghain stayed dirty, he'd met their mother, and eventually retired quite happily from the music industry.

“You got more time with him than I did,” Carver muttered. Talking to Garrett about family shouldn't have been this hard. It still felt raw, like after Bethany died. After their mother died. But those were the times he felt most connected to Garrett. Carver wondered if he felt the same.

Garrett, for once, said nothing, so Carver went on. “I think he'd want us to take care of ourselves. We took care of Mom.” He swallowed. “ _You_ took care of her so I could stay in school like she wanted. I think he'd want us to be comfortable now.”

Garrett didn't speak at first. The coffee pot beeped, and Garrett poured himself a cup. “If the show takes off, it could be big,” he said. “Teagan’s sending the documents, but they want to send someone out to make the deal in person next week.”

“Sounds complicated,” said Carver. Garrett nodded.

“That’s why I want to have Varric look at the terms with us.”

Carver coughed out a laugh. “Don’t you want a lawyer or someone qualified?”

“Can you afford a lawyer?” asked Garrett. “I’d rather not dip into the inheritance unless I have to, and this is basically what Varric does for a living.”

Carver frowned. “I thought he was a writer.”

“Of course he is.”

At that moment, Fenris reemerged, wearing clothes that fit him this time. Carver wouldn’t have picked a long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans for an interview, but before he could comment, Fenris put on a pair of sandals and headed out the door without a word.

“I can tell he’s not from around here, but aren’t you going to tell him he can’t go to an interview like that?” Carver wondered.

“Hm?” Garrett sipped his coffee. “Oh, this interview is just a formality. He's going to be Varric's new barista.”

Carver frowned. “I thought you were the barista.”

“I was.”

“So what do you do?” Carver knitted his brows. “What does Varric do?”

Garrett just shrugged and drank more coffee.

“I don't even know why I bother. When's the meeting?”

“Next Tuesday. Nine o’clock. I'll pick you up,” said Garrett. “Your tires are low, by the way.”

The moment had passed. Carver curled his lip and sought out Wrex on the couch. “Bye, boy. You just let me know if you get sick of my brother and you can come live with me.”

Carver headed for the door, moving quickly to get the last word.

“Love you, too, brother,” called Garrett.

As he stood in the newly resurfaced parking lot, lines fresh and white, Carver was dismayed to learn that Garrett was right about his tires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I love Carver, but I wanted to have a little fun with him in this chapter.


	7. Mr. Free Marches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody plays a better game of catch up than Isabela.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out we are unbetaed so please let me know if you find any problems.

“Isabela!”

Isabela hadn't been to Potent Prose in a long time—working far too many hours—but Varric and Hawke always made her feel welcome.

“Good morning, boys,” she said with a broad smile.

“You're up early,” Hawke said as he dusted the books on the high shelf.

“I had last night off.”

Hawke grinned. “And I repeat, you're up early.”

“Do you pay him to sass the customers, Varric, or just to dust and look pretty?” Isabela asked, turning to Varric.

“No, but he does accept tips,” said Varric.

“Remind me, what it is you do again?” Isabela wondered. “Because you can’t brew a cup of coffee to save your life.”

Hawke smirked. “True, but I look pretty doing it.”

“Fair enough,” she said, even though neither of them had answered the question.

“We have a real barista now, which you’d know if you had bothered to come in over the past, oh, two months.” If she didn’t know better, Isabela would have sworn there was a bit of hurt buried under Varric’s smarm. 

She wasn’t about to explain herself, so instead, Isabela followed Varric’s eyes to the coffee counter.

 _Speaking of looking pretty.._. A white-haired elf, tall and covered in tattoos that Isabela would love to peruse, was cleaning the espresso machine. He had been so quiet she hadn't noticed him but now it pained her to look away.

“You should have mentioned him, I might have come in sooner,” Isabela said, looking the new barista up and down.

“Is my coffee that bad?” Hawke asked.

Varric and Isabela spoke at once. “Yes.”

Hawke winced, but Isabela didn’t give him the chance to wallow. Hawke was missing the point.“Where have you been hiding him?” she asked Varric.

“Don't look at me,” he said. “He lives with Hawke.”

Isabela’s eyes went wide. “ _Does_ he now?” She turned to Hawke. “And when were you planning on telling me about your delicious new roommate?”

“I can hear you, and I have a name,” said the elf. His voice was exactly as low and rough as she hoped it would be.

“Fenris, meet Isabela,” said Hawke.

“Would you like something to drink or are you just here to ogle me?” Fenris growled.

 _Feisty._ She liked feisty. “Oh, I would love a tall, stiff drink, Fenris, but I will settle for an espresso.”

“Indeed.” Fenris started on the espresso. His eyes flicked to Hawke and she smiled.

“You've been holding out on me, Hawke. Though I can't blame you for wanting to keep him all to yourself. He is a delight!” Isabela admired Fenris from behind as he reached for the coffee beans. _Just as good from the back. Maybe better._ It was free to look even if he was taken.

Hawke laughed and shook his head. “I'm sorry to disappoint you, but he and I are just friends.”

Isabela wondered if Fenris could hear Hawke over the whirr of the grinder. She shook her head and tutted at him. “You poor, sweet thing. It's not me you're disappointing.”

Hawke chewed on her words as if he had no idea what she was talking about, and she wondered if she had read too much into one little glance. Then, Fenris tamped the coffee grounds with a reverberating smack—he had heard, and she was right.

Hawke went back to dusting, shelving, or whatever he was getting paid to do.

“This one’s on the house, Rivaini,” said Varric, heading back to his office with a wave of his hand.

Fenris looked over his shoulder at her. “Were you staying or going?” Despite his little outburst, he didn’t look any grouchier than before. She could work with that.

“I'm enjoying the show,” she said, taking a seat by the bar. “I think I'll stay.”

“Lovely.” In contrast to his brusque tone, his movements were fluid and smooth as he finished making her drink. His fingers would linger here and there, thought and care behind each deliberate action. He didn’t even seem to blink without careful consideration.

Holding her gaze like a challenge, he walked around the counter to bring her the espresso.

“Points for style,” she said, taking the cup from the saucer. She brought it to her lips, keeping her eyes on Fenris, and sipped. Rich, smooth, but with a bite. Fenris’s eyebrows went up at her sigh of pleasure. Maybe it was too much.

She took the saucer, too, and placed them both on the table. Neither of them blinked as she withdrew a few bills from her bra. She wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or disappointed when he didn’t look down, but the intensity of his stare made up for it.

Fenris finally glanced at the money in her hand. “Varric said it's been take care of.”

“It's a tip.” Isabela was feeling lucky. “I don't suppose you have a tip for me?” Knowing Hawke wasn't with Fenris left a conspicuous opening—not that she would have minded stepping on Hawke's toes.

The corner of Fenris’s mouth twitched. “If I did, I doubt either of us would be content to leave it at that.”

Isabela managed to contain her delight. She was far too wise to take him seriously, but he was in the game. “Ah, so it's not _All Hawke and No Play_ with you.”

“I don't think that's the expression,” said Fenris, still holding her tip between two fingers. If he was mad about being called out, he didn’t show it, but that smirk was gone as soon as it appeared.

“No?” Isabela finished her espresso. “Then I'll keep working on you.” She returned the cup and walked slowly to the door.

“Cards tonight?” called Hawke from the back of the store.

“Count me in,” Isabela called back, not looking over her shoulder. She didn't have to look to know Fenris was watching.

It had only been a couple weeks since she had made it to Wicked Grace. Varric was probably hurt about that, too. He had to understand that she only had so many evenings off, and contrary to what people believed, she needed time to herself.

Also, the Thursday night dancers at The Blooming Rose were magnificent, and Isabela could only be in one place at a time.

Merrill caught Isabela’s eye as soon as she stepped into The Hanged Man and waved her over. Isabela smiled back and headed over to the table. Hawke and Varric were already there, and from the glasses on the table, already on their second drinks.

“Well, look who decided to join us,” said Varric.

“Aww, can’t live without me?”

“Don’t get cocky.” Varric’s hands flew as he shuffled the cards—she’d have to ask him how to do that move when everyone else was passed out drunk. “I’m just here for the money.”

The twinkle in his eye said otherwise.

“He’s killing us, Isabela. Take him down,” said Hawke.

“Varric!” Isabela chided. “Merrill’s got student loans.”

“Don’t worry, I never bet more than I want to lose,” said Merrill.

Isabela patted Merrill’s hand. “That’s because you’re smart, Kitten.”

“No concern for your friend Hawke?”

“Not if you keep referring to yourself in the third person,” Isabela snorted. Hawke had many good qualities, but restraint and frugality were not among them.

Varric’s eyebrows went up. “Wow, Rivaini, you actually paid attention in grammar class? I’m impressed.”

“Impressed I know how to read?” Isabela narrowed her eyes, only half-teasing. “Turn out your pockets. Your coin is mine.”

“Now we’re talking.”

Hawke’s triumphant smirk morphed into a look of surprise, and Isabela followed his eyes to a flash of white at the door. Fenris. _Well, this night just got a lot more interesting._

“Look at that,” chucked Varric. “If it isn’t our brooding barista!”

Merrill broke into an adorable smile. “Oh, is he here? I’m excited to meet him!”

“ _Brooding Barista_ doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue,” Hawke said to Varric.

“You don’t think so? I liked the alliteration,” said Varric. “Besides, it’s better than _Elf_ , isn’t it?”

“If we’re petitioning for new nicknames, sign me up,” Isabela said, watching Fenris stride closer. People moved out of his way as if they thought he might bite them, and Fenris didn’t seem to mind. Isabela wouldn’t mind being bitten. He had spotted Hawke, though if it brightened his mood, he didn’t show it.

“I quite like mine,” Merrill mused. “I love daisies _and_ kittens.”

Hawke pouted. “I’m so jealous. I don’t even get a nickname.”

Fenris didn’t react to any of them when he reached their table.

“Broody!” Varric called, even though Fenris was only a few feet away. “You finally took me up on my offer!”

“ _Broody_?” Fenris repeated, finally registering an emotion: confusion.

“Take it,” said Hawke. “It’s much better than the other ones Varric proposed.”

“It's so nice to finally meet you, Fenris. Everyone says such nice things about you,” said Merrill.

Fenris frowned. “Do they now?”

“They didn't mention your vallaslin. They're quite lovely,” Merrill went on.

Fenris stiffened. “They are not vallaslin.” But he didn't elaborate on what they were.

“Oh, I've put my foot in my mouth again. I'm sorry.”

“Keep your pity,” Fenris said, lip curling in a snarl.

“Merrill was trying to pay you a compliment,” said Isabela. “There are better ways to use those claws.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes at her, and she matched his glare. When he said, “I'm getting a drink,” she had a feeling he had planned to say something else.

Isabela softened her gaze and drew some more money from her bra, pleased to see Fenris’s eyes flick down to her hand and back. “Be a dear and get me some dark rum, would you? And be sure to leave a good tip.”

“For you or for the bartender?” he growled, to Isabela’s delight. Hawke was grinning like a fool in her peripheral vision. Fenris didn’t wait for an answer, taking her money and heading to the bar.

Once he was out of earshot (or not—Isabela recalled his extraordinary sense of hearing), Merrill said, “He seems cross.”

“It's nothing to do with you, Kitten.” Isabela patted her hand.

“He takes a while to warm up to people,” said Varric. “I'm still waiting for him to warm up to me.”

“Perhaps he’ll be friendlier after he's had some wine,” said Isabela, watching him order at the bar.

“Fenris is still Fenris when he's drunk,” said Hawke. “And I've seen him pretty drunk. You just need to get to know him.”

Isabela raised an eyebrow. They drank together and nothing was going on between them? What was Hawke waiting for? “Well, aren't you two just portraits of self control. Must be all the working out.” Fenris might not have had Hawke’s definition, but he clearly worked out.

“What are you talking about?”

Poor, sweet Hawke. Isabela let her imagination run wild. “Drinks after hours at the gym, skin glistening with sweat and oil—”

“In a Mr. Free Marches contest, are we?”

“Don't interrupt me, Hawke,” she snapped. “Bodies pushed to the peak of physical perfection, and yet, a line remains uncrossed, until—”

“Been a while, Isabela?” Hawke deadpanned.

There had been scattered, delightful evenings with Olivia, but between her acting jobs and Isabela’s schedule, those nights were few and far between.

“I should ask you the same thing. Unless there’s something you and Varric aren’t telling me,” Isabela said with a wink.

Hawke let out an exaggerated sigh. “Only in my dreams.”

Varric laughed and said, “Maybe in another lifetime.”

But Isabela knew platonic soulmates when she saw them. She stole a glance at Merrill, who was hiding a giggle behind her hand. If Merrill ever expressed interest, Isabela would be happy to do whatever she wanted, but she was just as happy to be Merrill’s friend and biggest supporter.

Isabela didn’t know Hawke that well, and she didn’t know the circumstances under which he came to live with Hawke, but perhaps he saw Fenris in the same light.

A low voice interrupted her thoughts. Fenris. “Your rum.”

She smiled and looked over her shoulder. “Thank you,” she said, letting her fingers run gratuitously over his as she took the glass. No ice, and going by the scent, it was the brand she liked.

Fenris held her gaze but took a seat next to Hawke. She drank—definitely her brand. Maybe Corff had told him.

“So what’s the occasion?” asked Varric. “You’ve turned me down enough times, there must be a reason.”

Instead of being cagey, Fenris smiled. “I was approved for a lease. I’ll be moving out next week.”

Hawke smiled back at him, warm and friendly. “Congratulations! I didn’t know you were looking, or else I would have done what I could to help.”

“I didn’t want to trouble you,” Fenris replied. He took a long drink of his red wine. “You’ve done enough for me.”

“Well, you did save my life. I know you need your own space, but you’re always welcome at my place.”

Now that she was watching him, Hawke’s body language was all wrong. He treated Fenris much like he treated Aveline. Fondness and affection in spades, but no spark. She needed more information.

“I’m sensing a story here,” she said.

Hawke laughed. “Varric tells it better than I do.”

Even Fenris chuckled when Varric told the tale of a plastered Hawke running his mouth, then fighting off an entire gang back to back with Fenris. It was an exaggeration, no doubt, but she understood them both a little better after.

“Well, now that we’re all acquainted, what say we get down to business?” Varric asked. His fingers twitched with anticipation.

“Fenris is going to clean up,” said Isabela. “I can see it in his eyes.”

Varric leaned over Hawke and said in a loud whisper, “That means she’s going to cheat.”

“Isabela, you wouldn’t!” said Merrill.

Isabela smiled at her. “Not against you, sweet thing.”

This seemed good enough for Merrill but Hawke pouted. “Oh, I see how it is. You know, Merrill’s not as innocent as you think she is.”

“Merrill’s perfect,” said Isabela. “I never said she was innocent.”

“Betting starts at twenty,” Varric said, raising his voice. “I’m watching you, Rivaini.”

Isabela narrowed her eyes. “Big mistake, Dwarf. Now it’s personal.”

“Cheat all you want,” Fenris said. No matter what Hawke said, the wine seemed to have put the beginnings of a smirk on his face. “It won’t matter. Make it fifty.”

The others gaped at him, but Varric beamed like a proud father. “Welcome to the family, Broody. We’ve missed you.”

She hadn’t known him long, but Fenris looked as pleased as she had ever seen him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just really love writing Isabela/Fenris banter. Can you tell?


	8. Cut to the Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Anders get along like a house on fire (and poor Carver gets caught in the inferno).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last, the meet cute!

Carver's message had said to meet him at 5:30 in the library, but it was 5:45 in the library and there was no Carver.

He sent a follow up text.

_Where are you? Waiting in periodicals._

When no response came, Hawke sighed and went back to his game of mobile Wicked Grace. It wasn't as fun as playing The Hanged Man, but he needed the practice. Between Fenris and Varric, he couldn’t catch a break.

He checked the time again. Carver's study group was probably working overtime. Or maybe he was just too mortified at the thought of his big brother picking him up again.

Another lost game. Hawke sighed again, louder, and glanced around the library. Students sat huddled over textbooks and laptops, and Hawke felt a flash of smug superiority at the fact that his college days were behind him.

In all four years, he had never spent a minute in the Redcliffe University library. That was for diligent students like these. Except for the one who was staring at him.

Blond hair—long, probably silky—and golden brown eyes. Thin, pointed nose and chin. He could have used a shave except it was _working_ , and his lips were just barely pursed...

Maybe there was something to be said for the library.

Only the student wasn't staring, just lost in thought.

 _Right. Studious students study in the library. Probably too young for me anyway_. But the beginnings of lines around those brown eyes suggested otherwise. The University of Kirkwall did have a large graduate school.

 _Stop staring,_ he told himself. Hawke went back to his phone and sent another text to Carver. _Might as well start another game_.

"Hello."

 _Amber_ , was his first thought when he looked up into the eyes of the graduate (he hoped) student standing in front of him. Then, _Tall._

"May I help you?" asked Hawke. He kept his tone light.

"That depends on why you were staring at me."

 _Interested,_ from lilt in his voice and that little smirk.

Hawke mirrored the expression, though he wasn't sure he could do it justice. "And here I thought I had been discreet. Apparently, you were looking back."

 _Interested_ eyebrows went up in genuine surprise. "And if I was?"

"Then I would tell you that my name is Hawke."

A breath of a laugh. "Is that a first name or a last name, Hawke?"

 _Whatever you want it to be, so long as you keep saying it_. "It is."

"In that case, I'm Anders."

 _Good name._ Anders extended a hand—long, graceful fingers—and he shook it. Still holding that hand, Hawke rose to his feet. _Very tall._

“Anders,” Hawke repeated.

That smirk turned into a warm smile, and Hawke’s heart melted through those bony hands. “You’re Fereldan, aren’t you?” asked Anders.

“Takes one to know one.” He couldn't resist.

Anders laughed, and his hand twitched in Hawke's. "What gave me away? Was it the lingering scent of dog shit?"

Success brought a grin to Hawke's lips, and in his confidence, words came tumbling out. "That might be me, since I brought my dog to Kirkwall. You should meet him sometime if you're homesick."

Anders arched a brow in surprise—had Hawke been too forward?—but his recovery was quick. "I'm more of a cat person, but you make it sound so nice that I might take you up on that." Hawke held onto his gaze and his every word. "Did you just move here?"

Hawke shook his head. "I’ve been here almost a year now.”

"A year? I don't recognize you from campus." One side of his mouth quirked up, pulling at Hawke's gut like it was attached by a string. "It's a big school, but I would remember you." The words echoed through him, sending his thoughts reeling.

_I would remember you all night, make you breakfast in the morning, and call you the next day._

"I'm not a student. Already did that, back in Ferelden. I'm here to pick up my brother, but thankfully, he's late."

"You'll have to thank him for me, too."

His heart fluttered _. Honestly, has it been that long?_ It was hard to be ashamed of himself when Anders was so cute.

Anders's hand was warming pleasantly in his, and for being so rusty, Hawke was relieved that his own palms were also dry. "So you're a student here?"

"Yes, in the graduate school."

 _Thank the Maker_. "Ooh, impressive." And Hawke meant it.

Anders laughed again, tucking some of that golden hair— _Rose gold, really_ —behind his ear. "It's not all glamour. You just caught me on a good day."

"Maybe I can catch you on another good day sometime soon.” _Or you can call me on a bad day and I'll make it better_.

"I'd like that.” That smile did wonderful things to his eyes. “But you're going to need my number."

Hawke was quick with his phone and Anders was reluctant to free his hand. Carver had finally texted back but Hawke didn't care. He dismissed the notification and passed his phone to Anders so he could add his number.

Anders handed the phone back and Hawke tried to touch as much of his hand as possible during the exchange. Anders had saved his name with a cat icon after it. _How can someone be this adorable?_ he thought.

Hawke was too dazed to send anything clever, so he settled for, _Hello, this is Hawke,_ with a winking face. Somehow, Anders’s eyes lit up even brighter when he got the text.

Carver's voice cut through the moment like shattering glass. "There you are, brother. I would ask what took you so long, but I should have known you’d be chatting up one of my teachers.”

Anders raised his eyebrows and looked past Hawke to Carver. “Carver’s your brother? I never would have guessed.”

“And you're his teacher?” _Oops._ But they were all adults. Even Carver, when he felt like it.

“Teacher’s assistant,” corrected Anders.

“I told you come to the _business_ library, by the way,” Carver said.

"Good thing you didn't," said Anders, getting his own phone out. Hawke’s phone buzzed with a text from Anders.

 _Saved you_ , and a wink of his own. Saved his number, saved his heart, what was the difference?

"I'm glad I chose today to ignore directions." Hawke said, sharing a private smile with Anders.

"Today?" Carver snorted. "You _never_ follow directions."

Anders laughed, and Hawke wanted to watch his face forever. "A man who thinks for himself? I like that."

"Maker's Breath," Carver muttered. “You two are perfect for each other.”

It wasn't meant to be a compliment and Hawke continued to ignore him. "Let's pick up this discussion later. I'd love to hear what else you like."

"About you?" Anders asked.

"About everything." Hawke smirked, adding, “If I happen to come up, I won't complain."

"Then I'll start working on a list."

"Don't forget to include 'making Carver late for work' and 'getting Carver fired.'"

"All right, Carver, I hear you.” Hawke fought the urge to touch Anders again, settling for one last smile. “I'll see you again soon, Anders."

"I'm counting on it." Anders turned to Carver and smirked. “Don't think I'm going to go easy on you now that I know how cute your brother is.”

Hawke’s heart soared but Carver looked like he wanted to die. “Please don't ever say that again.”

Hawke wanted to stare at Anders a little longer and memorize that smile, but he had no doubt that he'd get the chance again soon. Carver stomped all the way to the parking lot, whereas Hawke floated.

Once they reached Hawke’s care, Carver snapped. “You could have any guy you want and you _have_ to go after one of my TAs?”

“In my defense, I didn't know,” Hawke said.

“But you're still going to call him, aren't you?”

Hawke grinned at him over the roof of the car. “Definitely.”

Carver groaned and settled himself in the passenger seat. He heaved his bag into the back. “Would it matter if I told you he's a terrible teacher?”

Hawke couldn’t imagine Anders being bad at anything. “Maybe you're a terrible student.”

“No, it's definitely Anders. You can ask Merrill.”

“Good thing I'm not in his class, then. Not that the fantasy doesn't have possibilities.” Hawke’s mind started to run away with him, something about late night office hours and begging for extra credit. “He must be at least 5 years older than me. What do you think?”

“I think this is a conversation I don't want to be part of,” Carver grumbled.

Hawke smirked and started the engine. “Well, Merrill is my friend and it doesn't bother me that you like her.”

“What?” Carver seemed to choke on his own tongue. “What gave you—I don’t know what—”

Hawke just snickered at him. _Too easy._ He pulled it of the parking lot while Carver sputtered.

“Just so long as I never have to see Anders outside of class, it's fine,” Carver finally spat out.

“Thanks. I definitely needed your blessing.”

Carver didn’t reply. He took his phone out of his pocket and huffed every few minutes. The ride went on like that until Hawke had to make a turn.

“Am I taking you straight to work or do you need to go home?” he asked.

Carver didn't look up from his phone. “I've got my uniform.”

 _Left, then_. Hawke turned and sighed. His heart was still light from his chat with Anders, but he didn’t want to make Carver any angrier.

“So… How’s it going?” It had been a few weeks since they had last spoken.

“Fine.”

“Any luck finding a car?”

Carver pounded his fist against the car door and looked up. “Anything to get rid of me, huh?”

“That's not what I said.”

“I know what you meant. I'll find something soon and then you’ll never have to see me again.” Carver focused on something out the window.

Hawke sighed. It was always one step forward, two steps back with Carver. Maybe it was his own fault this time, but Carver wouldn’t be in class with Anders forever. Carver acted like Hawke was always getting laid, but that was just sibling rivalry. In all the time he stayed with their mother, there was no one. While he lived with Carver, there was no one. He had barely left the apartment so Carver _knew_ he wasn’t dating. Bringing a guy home while Fenris was staying with him seemed rude, but it was a moot point when there was no guy. Carver knew that, didn’t he?

The car was just a sore issue. Carver would probably be in a better mood when those royalty checks started coming in. Hawke would have gladly given him extra money, but now that he lived on his own, Carver would never accept.

“You should know by now I’m like a bad copper. You can’t shake me,” said Hawke, reaching over to give his shoulder a nudge. “Besides, I need you to stand up in the wedding when I marry Anders.”

“Shut up.”

It was too easy. They pulled up to the mall. “Do you need a ride home?” asked Hawke.

“No. Stroud is dropping me off so you can drink yourself stupid or whatever your plan was for tonight.”

Carver got out of the car and Hawke couldn't help himself. “Actually, I was planning on calling Anders and—”

Carver put up a hand. “Stop. I don't want to know.”

Yes, Hawke needed to be a better brother, but so did Carver. Plus, it was hard to behave when all he could think about was Anders.

Hawke didn't want to seem that desperate, so Carver’s guess for how he would spend his night was close. If he didn't find some way to occupy himself, he was definitely going to text Anders.

Maybe alcohol was a bad idea. If he was drunk, there was no telling what he’d say (or worse, _show_ ) to Anders.

Then again, if he ate first, he'd be fine. Hawke wasn’t going to get _that_ drunk, and if he did, he could sleep it off on Varric’s couch. Varric could confiscate his phone.

A text came when he was halfway through his sandwich.

_Since we're both rule breakers, I hope you don't mind me texting too soon. Would you like to get coffee tomorrow?_

Anders shared his lack of restraint—that was an exciting thought. And Anders was a verbose texter, he realized with another flutter. Hawke didn't hesitate to answer.

_Absolutely  
_ _Around noon?_

He might have forgotten to breathe as he waited for a reply.

_Unfortunately, I am required by the university to hold office hours from 11-1, but I'd love to meet earlier or later._

Anders was worth waking up early for, but he wasn't sure he could pull himself together in time.

_How about after?  
_ _I'll meet you anywhere_

He didn’t have to wait long.

_I was hoping you'd say that. I'd hate to have to cut our conversation short for anything less than the end of the world._

Anders picked a coffee shop far enough from campus to avoid his students, and not Potent Prose—Hawke was grateful for that.

He hadn't been this attracted to someone in an embarrassingly long time, and he wanted to enjoy every moment of his descent into lovesick foolishness. If things went well (and he hoped they would), it wouldn’t be long before his friends got to witness the fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first part of the story that I wrote almost 3 years ago. It's been tweaked a lot since, but I was compelled to write the previous 7 chapters just to get us here. Thanks for sticking it out so far!


	9. Actually Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke is floating in the clouds, but he's not quite ready to share with the class.

"What's got you so happy, Chuckles?"

 _Caught_. Hawke nearly dropped his cards but snapped his attention back to Varric. "Can it be? Have you finally given me a nickname?" He paused to scratch his beard before adding, "Funny, I thought I would feel different when it happened."

At least Fenris laughed, though his frown was back after a little cough.

Varric shook his head. "Hey, I'm just trying it on for size. But by all means, dodge my question."

"Just having a good day, I suppose," Hawke said, trying to force his cheeks down.

Varric’s smirk said he didn’t buy it. "Well, whatever it is, could you kick some more of it Broody's way? I'm worried his face might get stuck like that."

Fenris's scowl deepened. "I'd be in a better mood if you hadn't won the last three hands."

"Guess it's not just Hawke who's having a good day.” Varric set down his cards and cracked his knuckles. “But unlike Hawke, I'm nice enough to share with the class. Guess who's being courted by not one but two major movie studios for the rights to my latest best-seller?"

"Yes, yes, it’s you, Varric," said Isabela with a wave of her hand. She turned to Hawke, eyes gleaming. "I know that look. You've met someone."

Trying to stop the smile was futile, but Hawke turned to Varric instead. "Two studios at once, Varric? Have you decided where to plant your seed?"

"Oh no, forget about me. This is bigger.” Varric put down his cards and folded his hands, giving Hawke his full attention. "Anyone we know? How did you meet?"

Hawke let out a sigh. "Don't get excited, it's just coffee."

“Sounds like a date to me," Isabela said, crossing her arms. "I didn’t think you did that.”

Hawke shook his head, but he still couldn't kill the smile on his face. _This is probably why I always lose this game_ , he thought. "I've been busy. And it's not like I had a lot of prospects."

Fenris let out a grunt. He wouldn't meet Hawke's eyes, but he looked even more sullen than before.

"Well, whoever it is, and believe me, we'll find out," Varric nodded as Isabela went on, "it's nice to see you doing something for yourself for once."

Hawke smiled, then leaned back and cracked his knuckles. "Now, if you’re all finished being nosy, I need to know about these movie offers, Varric, because if you ever finish that biography you keep threatening to write, I want a say in casting."

Varric clicked his tongue and picked up his cards. "Can't make that promise if you keep holding out on me."

"Fine. Next week, I'll tell you whatever you want to know." A ghost of a vibration hit his thigh, and Hawke closed his hand around his phone to check if it was buzzing; it wasn't. He shook his head both at Varric’s curiosity and his own eagerness. "Don't want to jinx it."

Fenris downed his glass of wine in one gulp, stood, and headed to the bar without a word. Hawke watched him order a refill, voice gruff, and looked from Varric to Isabela for help.

"Honestly, Hawke, if you don't know by now, I'm not sure what I can do," said Isabela. Hawke frowned. _This is ridiculous. I’ll just ask Fenris what’s wrong._ But when Fenris came back to the table with a bottle of wine, Varric spoke up.

"So, my agent thinks these studios are gearing up for an all-out a bidding war. She says crime thrillers are hot right now, and I can go for full creative control. I'm thinking a nod to film noir."

"Ooh, I know a girl–Olivia. She would make the perfect Delia," said Isabela. "She's big in local theater, amazing range, killer legs."

"Local theater," Fenris grumbled, foregoing his glass to drink from the bottle. "Let me guess, clothing is optional?"

Isabela sighed, a smirk on her face. "You're cute when you're jealous." Fenris met her seductive look with a sneer, but it only seemed to encourage her.

"Congratulations, Varric," said Hawke, clinking his whiskey glass against Varric's mug.

"Don't congratulate me yet." He caught Hawke's eye. "Wouldn't want to jinx it."

"Oh, I have no doubt it'll be a hit." Hawke grinned. "The only question is, once you start raking it in, do you think you'll finally move into a proper house?"

Varric laughed and gestured at the bar around him. "And lose my greatest source of inspiration? Nah. Besides, if I didn't live here, where would you sleep it off?"

The game went on until everyone but Varric was out of money. What wasn't paid in winnings was spent on drinks, and Hawke felt it as soon as he tried to stand.

He pulled out his phone, dismayed to see no new notifications. Of course, it was two o’clock in the morning. Was Anders sleeping? _Probably studying. I'm sure he works way too hard. I bet he needs a break, or a back rub, or..._

Half-formed images of where such a distraction might lead had him swooning, but it hadn't even been a day. Hawke did not need to embarrass himself with some forward proposition, so he pushed his phone into Varric’s hands. “I need you to take this before I do something stupid. No matter what I say, do not give me my phone.”

Varric, who always fared better than Hawke with alcohol, took the phone and secured it in his jacket pocket. “Come on, Champ, let’s get you to bed. The couch is still made up.”

“Champ? That’s a good one,” Hawke said with a giggle. “But don’t think you can sweet talk me into giving you details just because I’m drunk. And don’t peek at my messages!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Varric said, steering him toward the stairs.

Hawke threw a grin over his shoulder (without falling over) at Isabela and Fenris. "Be safe, you two," he said. "I mean, get home safe. But if your night does happen to go that direction..."

Varric put a hand on his arm. “Easy, Champ. Quit while you’re ahead.”

Hawke wasn’t sure what Varric meant, but following Varric upstairs took all of his attention. Each step seemed higher than the next—had Varric moved up a floor? Why hadn’t they taken the elevator? But before he could ask, he was on the couch, glass of water in hand, and words were coming out with abandon.

“His name is Anders and he’s beautiful, Varric. He’s a genius, and he’s from Ferelden. He likes cats, not so big on dogs, but nobody’s perfect, except he actually might be.” He downed the water and went on babbling until he heard Varric snoring from across the room.

With his belt jutting into his back, Hawke laid back on the couch, wishing for his phone. Anders needed to know how excited he was, but standing up sounded really hard. He’d let Anders know in the morning.

\--

After Hawke and Varric disappeared up the stairs, Isabela turned to Fenris. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

His eyes darkened. “Spare me.”

“Look on the bright side.” She stood and stretched her arms high over her head. “It’s just a date. Maybe it won’t go anywhere. Although for Hawke’s sake, I do hope it goes all night.”

This thought sank in his stomach like a bad meal, and he said nothing. Maybe she was right, but Hawke had never smiled quite like that before.

 _Hawke is free to see whomever he chooses, and even if he does know how you feel, he clearly doesn’t reciprocate. Of course, like a fool, you said nothing._ He admonished himself in his head until Isabela’s voice cut into his thoughts.

“Think you can find your way home?”

“I do not need a nanny,” he snarled.

She clicked her tongue. “There goes my fantasy of turning you over my knee." But she didn't sound broken up about it.

Unlike him, Isabela made her wants known. Fenris was waiting for something, and now it seemed he had waited too long.

Isabela bid him goodnight, and Fenris narrowed his eyes at her retreating form. Somehow, her departure made him feel even worse.

When he stood, he was entirely too sober. No one bothered him on his walk home, and only his wine was there to greet him when he arrived.

\--

The next morning brought Hawke a ringing phone, a headache, and an aching back. He reached for his phone but met only air where his nightstand should have been. Memories of at least two drinks too many flooded back, and Varric’s room at the Hanged Man came into focus. He never forgot where he was unless he had been utterly wasted the night before.

“Call off the search party, Junior, he’s at my place. He’s just waking up, but I’m thinking you’re going to need to take the bus.”

“I’ll call Carver a car,” Hawke mumbled, trying to rise to a sitting position. It was a bad decision. “Just give me two minutes. And my phone.”

Varric relayed this to Carver and ended the call. “Are you sure you can be trusted with this?” he asked, dangling the phone in front of Hawke.

Hawke blinked a few times, feeling dizzy as he tried to grab the phone. “On second thought, can you do it? He needs to go to work.”

“Sure thing.” Varric arranged the ride and put the phone down next to Hawke. “Coffee?”

“Gimme all you’ve got.”

Varric, entirely too cheerful for how much he drank the night before, laughed and fetched a mug for Hawke. “Cream and sugar, right?”

Hawke gave an affirmative mumble and rubbed his temples. Never again. When Varric returned, Hawke could have kissed him. He took the mug, cradling it as if it were Andraste’s Ashes.

Once he had gulped down the first cup, he felt well enough to get his own refill and join Varric at the table. He took a banana from the fruit bowl and hoped it would become appetizing if he stared at it for long enough.

“So, _Anders_ , huh?” said Varric, looking up from his laptop.

Hawke cringed. “Please tell me I didn’t talk in my sleep last night.” He thought he had slept like death the night before, but with the way Anders had taken over his brain, nothing would surprise him. _Please tell me I didn't moan,_ he added mentally.

“Oh, no, you were wide awake. Drunk off your ass, but awake,” Varric said with a chuckle. “Let’s see, he’s a beautiful, _actually perfect_ genius who likes cats…”

The words did sound familiar. “Oops.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll lord it over Isabela’s head, but I won’t give her any specifics. It’ll drive her crazy.” He laughed. “So, when’s your coffee date?”

“This afternoon,” Hawke muttered. His stomach turned and he closed his eyes. “Maker, I hope he doesn’t want to get drinks after.”

“If he’s as old as you think he is, you have nothing to worry about. Us old folks don’t stay out past seven.”

Hawke squeezed his eyes shut; he didn’t even remember mentioning the age difference. _Can't do anything about it now._ He polished off the banana, pleased when it agreed with his stomach.

“That’s funny, coming from the _old man_ who was up until two in the morning last night.” He finished his second cup of coffee and pocketed his phone. “Thanks for letting me stay, but I think I’ll head out now. Gotta pull myself together in time to meet Anders for the early bird special.”

Varric saluted him. “Maybe I’ll see you there. That is, unless my back gives out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry no new chapter last week! I was on vacation. I hope lovesick!Hawke makes up for it!


	10. A Little Debauchery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders hasn't done this in a while, but Hawke is worth it.

Anders hadn't set foot in a bar in years, and unlike him, bars didn't change. The music was always too loud, and invariably bad. A few measures of generic classic rock alone would have been enough to annoy him, were it not for the one very good reason he had come.

That reason was nowhere in sight. At least the Hanged Man seemed to cater to everyone. Undergraduates crowded the pool tables, trying to impress each other. Businesspeople and townies of all races, even a qunari or two, filled the tables, engaged in everything from raucous conversation to stoic drinking.

He could remember a time when he was used to the stench of stale beer, but it stung his nostrils now.

_Andraste's knickers, I feel old._ Alcohol would help.

His coffee date with Hawke had lasted until the shop kicked them out, and their lunch date had spilled over into dinner (Anders felt bad for the poor servers). In the hours past, he had never texted so much in his life.

Bringing alcohol into the equation rattled his nerves, but only because it was already hard to stop himself from getting handsy. He hadn’t been this interested in someone in years, maybe not since Karl, and he was determined to let Hawke take the lead. He had scared off too many potential partners by falling too hard, too fast.

He spotted the bar and squeezed into a gap that was just big enough for him. Looking to his left and right, he had to do a double take at the woman standing next to him. That profile (and, honestly, that rack) was unmistakable. “Isabela? I didn’t know you were in Kirkwall.”

Isabela turned, eyes wide, but her expression melted into a half-smile. “Well, well, well. Anders. The last time I saw you, Sanga was scraping you off the floor.”

“Thanks for that reminder.” Anders frowned at the memory and ordered a beer. What would floor Anders have thought of studious Anders?

_I'd probably find me boring._ The only thing keeping him up at night these days was research, although that was beginning to change.

“All I’m saying is that it's been a while.” She leaned against the bar and swirled her drink. “What are you doing here?”

“In Kirkwall? Or in this bar?”

“Both, I suppose.”

“I’m studying psychology at Kirkwall University. Not at this moment. Right now, I’m waiting for someone.” The beer arrived and Anders moved for his wallet, but Isabela held up a hand.

“He’s on my tab. Along with whoever he’s meeting,” she told the bartender. Anders drew back in surprise.

“That’s not necessary, I can—"

Isabela smirked and held up her drink to toast. “It’s not every day I see an old friend, especially one I don't want to shank.”

After a moment’s hesitation— _who has Isabela shanked?_ —Anders laid down a tip and picked up the beer. “Cheers to that,” he said, clinking the bottle against her glass. "What about you? What have you been doing?"

She leaned her back against the bar. “I'm a cook at Harimann’s.”

"That's right, you always used to bring food for the girls at the Pearl." Anders smiled at the memory. He had never set foot in Harimann’s, and couldn't imagine her working in a fancy restaurant like that. Not because she wasn't good enough—he had never tasted a better chowder—but because she had always seemed much more at home with the masses. "Sounds like you're feeding a different crowd these days. Don't you ever get tempted to poison some politician's crab legs?"

"Good to see you haven't changed," Isabela said. Some things never changed.

"Please tell me you've at least spit in a pudding."

"Well, there was this one Nevarran senator who really had it coming, but making sure his wife caught him in the kitchen with his pants down was much better punishment for fondling the waitresses than a little hair in his soup, don't you think?" She drummed her fingers on the bartop. "I heard she beat him by a landslide in the last election."

Anders grinned. "You _definitely_ haven't changed."

She nodded triumphantly. “So, tell me about this person you're meeting. I'm assuming this is a personal engagement?"

"I certainly hope so." He scanned the room once more. “We're grabbing a few drinks before that free concert at the museum.”

“A little debauchery, a little refinement,” she said, nodding her approval. “And then what?"

He hadn't gotten that far yet. But he didn't have to answer, because his heart lifted at the sight of Hawke at the door. _Okay, coming to the bar was definitely worth it._

Isabela's voice tore his eyes away, but he found her watching the door as well.

"So long as you're waiting, you should meet my friend Hawke," she said, waving him over. Anders should have guessed they were acquainted; Hawke and Isabela were the both the type of people who knew everyone. Still, he didn't know what to make of the news.

“I have. He’s the one I’m meeting.”

Isabela narrowed her eyes. “That little rat didn’t tell me he had a date tonight.” A smirk tugged at her lips. "And he certainly didn't tell me he was seeing the likes of you, though I can hardly blame him there."

"Oh, thanks," he muttered. There was a hint of concern in her playful tone. Isabela had always practiced an aggressive policy of _live and let live_ , but she cared more about others than she let on.

He snuck another glance at Hawke, who had stopped to clap someone on the back and share a laugh. He attracted friends like a beacon, and Anders could only marvel at him.

“Just tread carefully.” Isabela's eyes were on him before he turned back to her, but there was no warning she could give that he hadn’t already given himself. "He likes honey whiskey,” she added, before strolling over to a dim corner of the bar.

“Hey,” said Hawke when he approached. His warm smile calmed the unease in Anders’s stomach, and he smiled back. Hawke held his gaze for a moment before his eyes darted to the beer. “Where’s mine?”

Anders laughed. “Sorry about that. I wasn’t sure what you’d want.”

“I was just kidding,” he said. “But for future reference, I’m really not picky when it comes to alcohol.”

Hawke ordered the same beer and the bartender refused his money, too. “It’s been taken care of.”

“Really?” Hawke gaped at Anders, who shook his head rapidly.

“I wish I could take the credit, but your friend Isabela picked up the tab."

Hawke smirked. “I thought I saw you two talking. Did she make a pass at you first?”

“Not exactly.” _That ship has sailed_ , he added mentally. He couldn't imagine Hawke judging him for his past, and it was insignificant in the long run, but that didn't make it less awkward.

Hawke put down his own tip and smiled. “If you’re ditching me for her, just tell me. I can't say I wouldn't be disappointed, but I'd understand.” But he must have been joking, because he gestured toward a table. They sat and Hawke took a few appraising sips of his drink. "Tasty," he said with a nod.

Hawke seemed content to let the moment pass, but Isabela’s words and his own conscience weighed on him. “Actually, I know Isabela from Denerim,” said Anders. _Just get it over with_. “And yes, in the way you’re probably thinking.”

“Ah.” Hawke blinked a few times, then took another sip and shrugged. “Small world.”

Anders let out the breath he was holding. _There, that wasn't so bad_. “It was a long time ago, and it wasn’t serious. Nothing was serious for me then." _And now I'm being so serious that I'm going to scare him off._

“You don’t need to explain yourself unless you want to,” said Hawke. “I’m under no illusion that you’ve lived under a rock for,” he squinted and tilted his head, “thirty years?”

Anders laughed, as much out of humor as relief. “Just the past five. And you’re getting closer.”

“Am I over or under?”

He wasn’t sure what to make of that question. “Under.”

A slow smile spread across Hawke’s face, and Anders couldn’t look away. “Nice.”

_That's not the reaction I expected,_ he thought. But it seemed unfair that he knew Hawke's age, especially since it was ten years below his own. "You know, I could just tell you how old I am. It's not a secret."

"But I'm having such fun guessing," said Hawke.

"Then far be it from me to deny you." At least it didn't seem to be a problem for Hawke. _But what if I'm not old enough?_ He pushed the fleeting thought aside with a laugh. “How was your day?”

“Better now,” Hawke replied. “But not bad. Spent all morning chasing a bug in my program, but I figured it out.”

Anders didn't even pretend to understand programming; he just knew Hawke was good at it. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

Hawke returned his smile, then took another sip. “How about you?”

He couldn't share details on his patients, but Hawke knew that. “It was a rough morning at the clinic, but progress isn't always a straight line. I did hit a nice stride on my dissertation this afternoon, though, so I think I’ve earned a break.”

“Hear, hear.” Hawke held out his bottle, and Anders toasted for the second time that night. “You're so dedicated."

Anders laughed. "No, I'm stunted. _You_ have talents, whereas I have to fall back on my charm to get by in the real world."

"Don't sell yourself short. You're more than just charming.” Hawke set down his drink and leaned over the table. “You're passionate about everything you do, and I know all those hours you put in at the clinic aren't just for research. Plus, it all comes in such an attractive package."

Warmth rose to Anders’s neck and pooled in his stomach, but he was determined not to look away. Maybe it was the beer, but no one else talked to him that way. "You're one to talk. I'm sure you've noticed that I can't keep my eyes off of you."

"I might have."

Anders needed a moment to recover from the look that accompanied Hawke's admission, but he pressed on. "And I’ve only known you for a week and I’ve already seen you bend over backwards to help dozens of people.”

“Giving rides and running errands is easy. You’re getting people back on their feet.” Hawke leaned back in his seat, eyes bright. “Just take the compliment, I promise it won’t kill you.”

Anders shook his head, but he couldn’t help but smile. “You should take your own advice.” He pointed at the empty bottles. “Do you want another? Although, I heard a rumor that you like honey whiskey.”

“You heard right. I’ll get it. Two, then?” Anders nodded, watching Hawke approach the bar. After he ordered the drinks, he laid down a few bills and Anders could just barely hear him ordering a rum and cola for Isabela. Little gestures like that might not have seemed like a big deal to Hawke, but they spoke volumes to Anders. He tipped generously and returned with two glasses of whiskey on ice. “This one’s my favorite.”

Liquor was an indulgence Anders rarely afforded himself. The drink stung his throat, but the burn was tempered with a rich, meady finish. “Delicious,” he said. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a proper drink. I haven’t been to a bar in years, actually.”

Hawke tilted his head. “Then where do you drink?”

“At home, friend’s houses.” He didn’t mention that he hadn't been to a friend’s house in a long time, either. “Maybe a couple at the occasional department mixer, but open bars and faculty committees can be a nasty combination.” Anders laughed. “I’m afraid I’m pretty boring.”

“I wouldn’t say that. A quiet drink at home sounds nice to me.” Hawke looked right at Anders as he spoke. “Sometimes I just want to talk, without the all the noise and the crowds.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” But, looking into his eyes, it was hard to see anyone else in the bar.

They finished their drinks over warm conversation, and as they walked to the museum, Anders knew that his giddy feeling had very little to do with the alcohol.

\--

Neither of them was in a hurry to leave the other’s side after the concert they had hardly watched, and Hawke suggested going somewhere private. Since Sebastian was out for the night, Anders volunteered his apartment (with a silent prayer that he wasn’t coming on too strong). Hawke, long since sober, had responded with a low, “Lead the way,” and Anders had promptly melted.

Ser Pounce-a-lot was waiting just inside the door, and Anders bent down, extending his hand.

"Hello there,” he said, smiling as his cat rubbed his fingers, then approached Hawke and sniffed his shoes.

"Ah, you must be Ser Pounce-a-lot. Do you smell my dog? His name is Wrex," said Hawke. Ser Pounce-a-lot flopped to the floor, rolling on Hawke's toes. He bent down to pet the cat, and to Anders’s surprise, Ser Pounce-a-lot curled against his hand and began to purr.

“He likes you."

Hawke grinned and sat down on the couch, and Ser Pounce-a-lot wasted no time jumping into his lap.

_That's a good sign_ , thought Anders, watching Hawke idly stroke his cat. "Do you want some water? Tea?”

“Tea sounds nice, thanks,” said Hawke.

Anders prepared the kettle while Hawke entertained Pounce. “Feel free to turn on the TV if you want,” he said. Background noise was probably customary in these situations. He wasn't really sure; it had been so long since he had entertained anyone.

Hawke shrugged. "I don't watch a whole lot of TV. I get too restless."

"I don’t have that problem,” he replied with a laugh, bringing two mugs of tea to the front room. “But I don't really watch much TV, either. If I'm not studying or writing, I'm reading. Exciting, I know." Anders settled next to Hawke on the couch, close enough to make a statement without being invasive.

Ser Pounce-a-lot walked from Hawke to Anders, rubbing against both of them on the way, then hopped off the couch and darted into the hallway. Smart cat.

“You're wild," said Hawke, edging closer. Anders smiled and relaxed his shoulders.

"So what do you do for fun?" He let his eyes linger on Hawke's arms, then back up his chest to his face. "I have a few guesses."

"I'm guessing you're right," he replied, voice low. “I sit enough when I'm working, so I get outside as much as I can. Running, biking, playing with Wrex."

Anders suspected there was more to Hawke's muscle tone than just walking the dog. "I'm not big on physical activities, but they do look good on you." He leaned in, giving into temptation and running his fingers over Hawke's forearm. It was just as solid as he'd imagined, and Hawke’s eager smile made him bolder. "Though, I suppose there are certain activities I don't mind."

Catching his hand, and the easy setup, Hawke pressed in. "Care to demonstrate?"

Anders couldn't remember the last time he had been kissed like this; welcoming and easy, until that underlying warmth grew into a steady fire. It had been so long that every movement left him reeling— _is it the same for Hawke_? He pulled Hawke down on top of him, dragging his hands over as much skin as he could reach. When they parted for a breath, Hawke’s teeth grazed his ear. “Thirty-four?"

“Good guess." Anders rolled his head back over the arm of the couch, closing his eyes as Hawke took advantage of the angle. He'd have to cover up the marks that this was definitely going to leave on his neck (a skill he never imagined dusting off), but it was hard to focus on anything beyond soothing the maddening burn of cloth against skin. The question of just how far they would go was poised on his tongue when the creak of the front door snapped his eyes open.

Sebastian walked in, upside down, with an armload of books and Anders frowned. “Sebastian,” he deadpanned. “How was Chant study?”

Sebastian’s eyes went wide and he turned away. "I'm sorry! I didn't realize you had company."

Hawke lifted his head and shifted off of Anders, sounding more respectful than embarrassed. "Well, you live here, so if anyone should apologize, it’s me." Anders was about to point out that Hawke was a guest, but Sebastian spoke first, backing away into the hallway.

"No, no. Let me give you some privacy."

"No need, the moment's gone." Anders righted himself with a sigh, while Hawke stood and insisted on an introduction.

“Just Hawke?” asked Sebastian, setting his books down on the kitchen counter. Hawke nodded and they shook hands. “Sebastian Vael. Originally from Starkhaven.”

Anders rolled his eyes, but Hawke responded with a proper, “Nice to meet you.”

Sebastian cleared his throat, his face the reddest in the room. “I know a Carver Hawke from Ferelden, are you related?”

“That would be my brother.”

“And my student,” said Anders. _He would_ _be friends with Sebastian,_ he added mentally _._ He tried to smooth down his hair, but it was no use, and he had to pull it loose.

“Oh, then you must be Garrett,” said Sebastian, ignoring Anders. “I thought you looked alike.”

_Garrett_? Anders’s hands froze at the name, hair slipping from his fingers. It wasn't really Sebastian's fault (not that Anders would admit that), but the fact that he already knew Hawke's first name stung. A fleeting notion that it was a good thing they had stopped before things got too heated popped into his head, and Anders spoke in a tight voice. “Except _Garrett_ is much better looking."

Hawke shot him a sheepish smile of an apology before turning back to Sebastian. “Aww, Carver talks about me.” He put a hand over his heart. “I’m sure I deserved whatever he said.”

“He...hasn’t said much,” Sebastian replied. He looked between the two of them and cleared his throat again. “Forgive me, but I have a paper to write. It was nice meeting you, Hawke. Goodnight, Anders.” He nodded, scooped up his books, and retreated to his room.

“And I can’t wait to ‘overhear’ that sermon of a paper tomorrow morning. Probably something about the importance of chastity,” Anders muttered. “He’s in seminary school.”

“He seems," Hawke groped for words, "polite.”

“Yes, he does _seem_ polite, doesn’t he? In that judgmental sort of way.” He shot a dark look at Sebastian’s door before turning back to Hawke with a smile. “So, _Garrett_ , huh? I don’t think I’ve heard anyone call you that.”

“Even Carver usually goes with _Brother_ or _Hey You_ to my face,” said Hawke with a shrug.

“Do you mind being called Garrett?” Anders asked, trying once more to tame his hair. The way Hawke's eyes followed his movements took his thoughts far away from Sebastian.

“You can call me whatever you want.”

“Hmm.” Putting a finger to his chin, Anders took a step closer and smiled. “ _Garrett_ does have a nice ring to it.” Hawke’s eyes lit up and Anders repeated his name. A few steps more and they were kissing again, only this time it was goodnight. “I’ll see you again soon, Garrett.”

“Yes, you will.” One more lingering taste sealed the promise, and he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter Sebastian! I promise I don't hate him. 
> 
> And I apologize for skipping past the first date! I've had this chapter written for over a year, but I will write a little companion one shot. In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed the early relationship feels (and the make out scene)!


	11. Morning People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric wants all the dirt on Hawke's romance, but it comes from a place of love.

“Hawke?” 

Hawke was the last person Varric expected to see in the shop that morning. 

“Good morning, Varric!” Hawke grinned at him. Hawke was an unabashed morning person, but this had to be some kind of mistake.

“I thought I gave you the day off.”

“You did,” said Hawke. “I just can’t stay away.”

Varric sighed, following Hawke to the coffee counter. That was a fresh outfit, so this wasn’t a stop on the walk of shame. Had Hawke’s date tanked that badly? 

“You wanna talk about it?” Varric asked.

“Talk about what?” Hawke looked innocent, but he was good at that. Varric was going to have to work for answers.

Fenris blinked at them from behind the register, just as surprised as Varric. “Hawke.” 

“Morning, Fenris!” Hawke said. “How are you?”

Varric was sure Fenris was coming to the same conclusions. 

“Fine,” Fenris answered after a moment. The beginnings of a smile pulled at his lips until he cleared his throat. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please.” Hawke’s expression never wavered, and Fenris handed him a mug. “Thanks!” 

Hawke headed off to the self-service pot to pour his coffee while Varric hung back. He watched Fenris watch Hawke, frown deepening. Once Hawke had his coffee the way he liked it (with way too much sugar—had Varric taught him nothing?), he settled himself at a table and pulled out his phone. 

Then, Hawke smiled at the tiny screen like it was the most precious thing in the world. Either he was watching a really good puppy video or his date hadn’t gone as badly as Varric thought,

Fenris only looked away when Isabela walked through the door. Varric kept an eye on everyone because that was what he did.

“Good morning, Isabela,” said Fenris. Isabela eyed him sideways.

“What’s got you so chipper?” she asked. Fenris started on her usual order, glancing at Hawke every once in a while. Isabela followed his gaze, then rolled her eyes. 

“Don’t get too excited. You’ll break your pretty face,” she said, patting his cheek. 

Fenris handed her a double shot of espresso. "I don't know what you're talking about." 

“You’re a terrible liar, but here's something extra for the smile,” she said, dropping several bills in his tip cup. 

Fenris’s lips slanted just a little. “Your generosity knows no bounds.” 

“Indeed. Keep smiling and see where it gets you,” she said. With a wink, she turned and headed over to Hawke’s table. Fenris wasn’t going to pry, but Isabela would. 

“Hey, Broody,” Varric said. “Go grab some more of the Antivan Roast, would you?”

Fenris nodded and went into the back without a word. Varric positioned himself closer to Hawke’s table. 

“Morning, Isabela,” said Hawke, not looking up from his phone. 

"Passionate. Eager to please. Very loud." Isabela circled Hawke’s table, pausing to tap a finger on her chin. Smirking, she added, "Something of a deviant. How does that sound?"

_ Where is she going with this? _ Varric wondered, pretending to straighten the bags of coffee for sale. 

Hawke put his phone down and took the bait. "Fun night last night?" 

She dropped into the seat opposite his. "Not particularly. That's just what I remember about Anders." 

Varric almost dropped a bag of beans.  _ Interesting. _ He knew he had made the right choice eavesdropping (and sending Fenris out of the room).

Hawke pulled back in his seat, one eyebrow arched. "And you think I needed to hear that because...?"

"What? It's not a bad review."

Isabela sipped her espresso and Hawke pinched the bridge of his nose. "Anders told me you two hooked up,” he said. “I don’t care what happened in the past, but I’d rather learn those things for myself.”

“Sorry, it won't happen aga—wait.” Her mouth dropped open. “You haven't slept with him yet?" 

_ And the hits keep on coming _ , thought Varric. He really was a terrible boss.

Hawke shook his head in bemusement. "It's only been a couple weeks. I'd hardly call that restraint.”

“I only  _ knew  _ Anders for a couple weeks.” Somehow, Isabela stopped herself from elaborating but Hawke narrowed his eyes. “Right. Shutting up,” she said.

He went back to typing, she went back to her espresso, and Varric figured that was all he was going to get. 

Of course, the quiet was too much for Isabela. “So, things _ aren’t _ going well?” she asked.

Hawke looked at her over the top of his computer and sighed. “What are you getting at, Isabela?”

She jutted out her lower lip just so. “I just want you to be happy, all right? But I get it, you’re a grown man, so I’ll butt out. Especially since you’re being so stingy with the details.”

Hawke lowered his laptop screen. “Fine, since your concern is so touching, I’ll give you a detail.” She nodded and leaned in close, but Varric knew that dashing grin on his face spelled trouble. “Anders is thirty-four, and if you knew him about ten years ago, that would make you at least—”

“Okay, you win,” she said, flipping her hands up. “Laugh all you want, but you’ll see. Experience is a good thing.” She downed the rest of her espresso and stood up. “I’m supposed to meet Merrill for breakfast at that new place in Lowtown, anyhow. Need to scope out the competition.”

Fenris came out of the back room, looking irate. “There is no Antivan Roast, Varric, as I’m sure you knew.”

Isabela shot Varric a wink and waved her fingers at Fenris. “Thanks for the drink.”

She took her leave and Varric pushed down his guilt at sending Fenris on a fool’s errand. He had to think of his shop, and Fenris’s bad moods were bad for business. On a good day, he had just the right amount of grumpiness to be endearing. And maybe Varric wanted to spare his feelings, too. Hawke had a good heart, but he was so deliriously in love that he paid no mind to the collateral damage.

“So, Varric,” Hawke began. “How goes it with the studios?”

_ The blinders do come off!  _ thought Varric. “I’m not going to lie, there’s a little bidding war going on. But there’s not much of a contest. One of the studios wants me to do the script.”

“Is that good?” Hawke asked. 

“Creative control is a beautiful thing,” Varric replied. “I’m just reviewing the deal, but if it checks out, I’ll sign at the end of the week.”

Hawke grinned. “We should celebrate! I just got another royalty check, so I can treat.”

“If it means we finally get to meet your mysterious Anders, then you’ve got yourself a deal,” said Varric. Fenris grunted, but he didn’t take it out on the equipment.

“Wow, even when I make a nice gesture, you have to go for a better deal.” Hawke shook his head. “Unbelievable.” 

“It’s what I do.” And he didn’t want to come out and say it, but Varric was a little hurt that Hawke hadn’t introduced him to Anders yet. Isabela had already had the pleasure (quite literally), and while Varric wasn’t interested in knowing Anders that way, he’d appreciate an introduction. “What, is he shy?” Varric asked. “We don’t bite.”

“Isabela might,” Fenris commented. 

Hawke and Varric laughed, but neither told Fenris how right he was. 

“No, he’s just busy,” said Hawke. “But fine. You let me know when you sign and I’ll throw you a party. I can’t guarantee Anders will be free, but I’ll ask him.”

“Goodie,” Fenris muttered. 

Hawke left and Fenris got back to work. Varric checked his phone, but no emails or messages had come in.

In truth, he was a hypocrite. There was only one person he trusted to look over the terms of the movie deal for him, and Varric wasn’t about to tell Hawke (or anyone else) about her.

Bianca was busy, too, but along with her engineering firm, she had a husband. Varric hoped for Hawke’s sake that Anders was nothing like Bianca, but then again, Hawke was nothing like Varric. 

It seemed like a lifetime ago when Varric and Bianca had been in the giddy phases of new love. Varric wasn’t about to pretend Bianca owed him anything. After all these years, she knew he’d be there no matter what. But he’d done enough favors for her and the least she could do was look over his contract in a reasonable amount of time.

If she didn’t respond by the end of the day, he’d call her. Until then, there were customers to help and online orders to fill, and since he had given Hawke the day off, it was going to take twice as long. 

After all the customers were gone and he had sent Fenris home, Bianca called him.

“Hey, sorry it took me so long. I just closed on a huge project. Guess who got the contract for the new Orzammar Chamber of Commerce?”

“Wow,” Varric said. “A new building in Orzammar? Harrowmount’s ancestors must be rioting in their graves.”

He could just picture Bianca rolling her eyes. “Funny. I congratulated you on your movie deals. Can’t you pretend to be happy for me?”

“You’re right, you’re right. Congratulations. It’s a big deal.”

“You should come see it sometime when it’s done,” she said. 

“Won’t What’s-his-name mind?”

“Let me worry about that. Anyway, the terms you sent me look pretty good, but I just sent you an annotated version with a few things you might want to push back on.”

Varric opened his laptop and they talked through her notes. Bianca was rubbish at emotional support, but she was nothing if not reliable. He never should have doubted her.

“Thanks. I really do appreciate the help.”

“Hey, you can ask me anything, you know that.”

Varric let out a bitter laugh, but there was no use pointing out the one glaring exception. “Well, I’m sure you’ve got things to do. Let me know how that building turns out.”

“And you let me know how the negotiations go. Hey, I’ve been meaning to tell you, there’s a Structural Engineering Expo coming up in Ostwick. I’m thinking of going.”

Varric didn’t need to tell her what he thought. She already knew, and they both knew what would happen. Something was better than nothing.

But more than the conference, Varric was looking forward to meeting Anders. He wanted to see for himself that Hawke wasn’t making the same mistakes that he had.    
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Bianca... Can't live with her, can't live without her. Sorry Varric. Sorry JD.


	12. It's a Small World After All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian doesn't have a lot of vices, but he just can't quit caffeine.

For someone in seminary, Sebastian kept a very busy social calendar. The other officers of his Chantry young adult group thought he was just especially dedicated, but he assured them it was nothing so noble.

He just didn’t want to be around Anders. Anders was always grouchy, and he was always home.

When Sebastian had answered the roommate ad, it had seemed like the perfect situation: two graduate students, both bound to be busy and quiet. Maybe they could bond over late night coffee and last minute deadlines.

They had other things in common. They both liked to write and they both loved cats. Sebastian had never had a pet before so he was excited to live with Ser Pounce-a-lot.

And Anders was Andrastian! Not that Sebastian required an Andrastian roommate, but he thought it a lucky coincidence. Sebastian had imagined long discussions of the Chant and chantry on Sundays.

Oh, how wrong he had been.

Anders was only quiet when he was studying. He was always watching videos on his laptop, usually of someone ranting and raving. It was like Anders looked for excuses to be outraged. If there was a rally or a protest, Anders was involved.

The ills of the world bothered Sebastian, too, but he preferred to reflect on them and collect his thoughts. He also believed in and followed laws and respected law enforcement.

Anders had no such restraint. The Kirkwall guard had escorted him back to the apartment no less than three times in the seven months they had lived together, once in nothing but a kitchen towel. He had somehow always escaped charges but it was only a matter of time before he crossed a line.

Anders didn’t react calmly when Sebastian told him as much. He didn’t react well to any of Sebastian’s advice.

The Chantry had saved Sebastian from himself and he wanted to do the same for Anders, but living with him was a true test of faith. When they dared to talk about faith, Sebastian wondered if Anders even believed in the same Maker.

Sebastian’s solution was to spend as little time at home as possible. Involving himself in every chantry activity he could was also good practice for becoming a pastor, but it did mean he had even less time for schoolwork.

Ever since he had walked in on Anders and Garrett Hawke, though, things had been different. Anders spent less time at home, and when he was there, he was almost cheerful.

“Your brother is a patient man,” Sebastian said to Carver at the chantry bowling team brunch.

Carver almost spit out his pancakes. “Seriously?” He swallowed. “My brother has the attention span of a goldfish.”

“Oh, I don’t know, he seems quite enamored with my roommate.”

“Really?” Carver frowned. “The grumpy guy? Because he’s dating my professor, too. Typical.”

“That’s right, Anders did mention he was your teacher,” said Sebastian.

Carver coughed and took a long drink of milk before he spoke again. “Anders is your roommate? How did I not know this?”

“I never mentioned his name,” said Sebastian, feeling sheepish. “I didn’t want to start any rumors or speak ill of him.”

“Then let me do it. Anders is the worst TA in Thedas. From what you’ve told me, he’s the worst roommate, too.” Carver took another drink and cleared his throat. “He and my brother deserve each other.”

“In any case, your brother seems to bring out the best in Anders. I’m glad they’re happy.”

And contrary to what Anders thought, Sebastian wasn’t going to lecture him on chastity. Sebastian knew better than anyone that chastity could not be forced on someone who didn’t want it. He would simply lead by example.

Still, he hoped that they would limit any activities to when Sebastian wasn’t around.

“Thank the Maker he’s out of my apartment,” said Carver. He winced. “Sorry. I just meant that the last time he had a boyfriend, he was insufferable. And shameless. Be careful.”

“I’ll be fine,” Sebastian said with a chuckle.

Sebastian returned to a dark, quiet apartment. That didn’t mean much; Anders was fastidious about turning lights off when he wasn't using them. Sebastian breathed a sigh of relief when there were no worn out boots in the doorway, waiting to be tripped over.

Now, he could read in peace. _Bless you, Hawke,_ he thought.

After removing his shoes and placing them neatly by the door, Sebastian poured himself a glass of juice. Down the hall, the telltale scrape of claws at a door meant that Ser Pounce-a-lot had gotten shut in Anders's room by mistake. Again.

He decided to rescue the cat once he quenched his throat, but Ser Pounce-a-lot let out a few helpless meows and he could resist no longer. Setting down his glass, he headed into the hallway. Anders's door was cracked open, and Sebastian shook his head. Could the poor cat really not figure out how to paw the door the rest of the way so he could escape? Maybe he, like his owner, just liked the attention.

"No! Bad kitty."

Sebastian froze. That voice belonged to Anders.

"But he just wants to cuddle with us."

And that was Hawke. Sebastian backed away, praying they wouldn't hear him.

"Nope. Off the bed. If you want Garrett, you'll have to wait your turn."

Sebastian backed away faster now.

"Preferably while I'm dressed. Your cat’s not as gentle with his claws as you are.”

He had almost escaped the private conversation when Anders appeared in the hallway. Were he not holding Ser Pounce-a-lot in front of himself, Sebastian would have seen everything, and he threw a hand over his eyes.

"Hi, Sebastian," said Anders, as if he wasn't naked. "Queuing up?"

"I'm sorry!" he stammered. "I thought—cat shut in your room—"

Ser Pounce-a-lot meowed in protest as Anders deposited him on the the floor with a soft thud. "Everyone wants a piece of Garrett. I swear, it’s like I’m dating the quarterback.” His pride was only thinly veiled.

"Quarterback?” Hawke scoffed from the bedroom. “Please, I was center on the hockey team.”

“That explains so much,” Anders said, shutting the door behind him. “I bet you got in fights all the time.”

“How do you think I broke my nose?” Hawke’s voice faded as Sebastian retreated. Trying very hard not to overhear anything else, he thrust his feet back into his shoes, catching Ser Pounce-a-lot’s eye. Hunched up on the couch, the cat looked put out rather than disturbed, but neither of them was surprised.

Coffee. This called for coffee.

Sebastian headed right back out the door, abandoning his juice on the counter. It took the whole drive for the embarrassment to even out. It was nothing he hadn’t seen before, but even in his wilder days, he hadn’t just walked around shared spaces naked. It was only as he entered Varric’s bookstore that he realized that Anders hadn't insulted him once during the interaction.

But he would have to ask him to put a sock on the door or something next time. That was what he had always done back then. He sighed at the memory.

“Hey, Choir Boy!” Varric’s broad smile faded when he took in Sebastian’s face. “You feeling okay? You’re not usually in at this hour.”

Sebastian was still too flustered to bristle at the nickname. “I’m fine.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

Varric’s offer was part kindness, part shameless thirst for gossip, and Sebastian shook his head. “It’s nothing coffee can’t fix.”

“Someday, I have to meet this roommate of yours who drives you to consume mass amounts of caffeine,” said Varric with a chuckle. Somehow, he always knew. “He still grouchy?”

And somehow, he always managed to extract the information he wanted. Sebastian heaved a sigh. “Actually, he’s been in a great mood all the time lately.”

“Yeah, there’s a lot of that going around,” mused Varric. “Let me guess. You walked in on him and the source of his great mood?”

Sebastian’s mouth fell open. “How could you tell?”

“Have you seen your face? That is the blush of a man who’s seen too much.” Varric laughed, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “Relax, this stuff happens with roommates. It’ll blow over before you know it.”

“You’re right.” Sebastian chewed the inside of his cheek. “Of course it will.”

“Say, why don't you come play Wicked Grace at the Hanged Man later on tonight?”

Varric's offer was tempting; Sebastian hadn't played Wicked Grace in years, though he had always liked it (even when sober). He assumed that the version Varric played did not involve the removal of clothing.

But he shook his head. “No, I have a lot of reading to do.”

“Suit yourself,” said Varric. “If you change your mind, we'll be there all night.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

Sebastian approached the coffee counter, greeting Fenris with a smile. Fenris didn't smile back, but he was always polite.

“Good afternoon, Fenris,” Sebastian said.

Fenris nodded and returned the greeting. “Your usual order?”

“Make it a triple,” Sebastian said.

At this, Fenris chuckled. “Coming right up.”

“It’s on me,” Varric called from the other end of the store. “You’ve seen some shit.”

“Perhaps from now on you should just tell me when I should charge someone. Or is the cash register just for show?” Fenris wondered aloud.

It was true. Sebastian only visited Potent Prose once a week, but he couldn’t remember the last time Varric had made him pay.

He tipped Fenris and sat down with his latte to do his reading.

Sebastian was deep into Grand Cleric Elthina’s writings on impartiality when the door burst open.

“Sorry I’m late, Varric! Won’t happen again.”

Sebastian looked up at the voice and his blush returned full force. There was Hawke, fully dressed but winded, as if he’d been running. Hawke grabbed an apron and slung it over his head.

Hawke worked for Varric?

Hawke caught his eye, but if he was at all embarrassed, he didn’t show it. “Oh, Sebastian. Didn't realize you came here. Hey, sorry about earlier. We weren’t expecting you.”

“Hold on a second.” Varric turned to Sebastian, barely able to contain his glee as he connected the dots. “ _Anders_ is your roommate? _Hawke’s_ Anders?”

“What a small world,” Fenris muttered.

“And why exactly were you late, Hawke?” Varric asked, feigning innocence.

Hawke looked up from a pile of books he was boxing. “Should I tell you or would you rather see pictures?”

 _Carver was not wrong_ , Sebastian thought. He looked at Fenris for sympathy but Fenris was determinedly scrubbing the counter.

The ways of the Maker weren’t always clear. Perhaps Sebastian was meant to help these people, but for a moment, he wondered if he wasn’t meant to suffer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I do a Sebastian and Anders Odd Couple spin off? Just kidding. 
> 
> Poor Sebastian. I've tried to keep him in the spirit of the game but he's the hardest character for me to write. I base him a little bit on a friend of mine who is a young pastor and one of the coolest people I know. She wouldn't care if she saw her roommate naked though lol.


	13. Healing Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders will agree to anything in the afterglow.

With a content Ser Pounce-a-lot on his lap, Garrett sat on the couch as Anders poured tea. Even in the kitchen, Anders could hear Pounce purring. Anders felt like purring himself. Had he ever been this happy? He couldn’t let himself get lost in the moment. It was too soon to be getting so attached. Garrett was special, but they were both still figuring each other out, and neither had dated in a very long time.

At least some things came right back to him. Anders couldn’t remember how to ride a bike to save his life, but certain other skills were as sharp as ever.

“Glad we finally got some time together without my roommate interrupting,” he said. Ever since Sebastian’s unexpected return had killed the mood the other day, they’d been aching for another chance and it had been worth the wait.

“So am I. Though I do feel bad for Sebastian,” said Garrett.

“Don't. He talks a big game about chastity and the Maker but he got up to much worse before he went to seminary.”

“Really?”

Anders brought out two mugs of Earl Grey and placed them on the coffee table. “Oh, yes. He won't tell me the juiciest stories but when you've heard as many lectures as I have, you begin to piece things together.”

“How exactly did you two come to be roommates?” Garrett asked.

Anders sat down next to him. “Don't let these luxurious accommodations fool you. When it comes down to it, he and I are both flat broke.”

“Graduate school does that to a person. But if you don't like each other, why don't you find a new roommate?” Garrett stroked his thigh with the hand that wasn’t petting Pounce.

The touch gave him pleasant goosebumps, but Anders wasn't sure where Garrett was going with this. Obviously, Garrett wasn't suggesting they move in together. It hadn’t even been a month. Anders admonished himself for even entertaining the thought. “We just try not to see much of each other.”

“Seems Sebastian saw a whole lot of you the other day,” Garrett said, leaning forward carefully to take his tea without disturbing Pounce.

Anders shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” At Garrett’s raised brow, he added, “Not like that. I’ve been lonely, but I have standards.”

“Either way, it sounds like a story,” Garrett said.

“For another time. Right now, I have a question for you.” Anders was sick of talking about Sebastian, and emboldened by Pounce’s faith in Garrett.

“Ask away,” said Garrett, a sly smile on his face.

“Was that a Blood Mage tattoo on your shoulder?”

Garrett’s smile faded just enough for Anders to worry that he had asked the wrong thing. Tattoos could be very personal, after all. But Garrett wasn't running for the door.

“You're a fan?” Garrett asked.

“Of your bare skin? Yes,” Anders replied, and judging by the grin on Garrett’s face, this was the right thing to say. “I'm just surprised. My last boyfriend liked Blood Mage and don't take this the wrong way, but he was old enough to be your father.”

Garrett laughed, but it didn't reach his eyes. Once again, Anders was afraid he had pushed too far. But at least he had left Garrett an opening to change the subject. If Garrett asked about Karl, he was willing to share.

“Funny you should say that, because the guitarist of Blood Mage _was_ my father,” Garrett said. He sipped his tea as casually as if he had just mentioned the weather.

Anders blinked in surprise, but Garrett being the son of a rock star made a lot of sense. From what he could remember, Blood Mage was a hair metal band, but he didn't know much else about them. Even in his wilder days, he hadn’t cared for rock music, but he did remember Karl being upset about the death of his favorite guitarist. That had been a long time ago. _What was his name?_ Anders wondered.

“Malcolm Hawke,” said Garrett, seeming to read his mind. “My mother had the same tattoo on her lower back—you can imagine what that means—and in a fit of sentimentality after she died, Carver and I decided to pay tribute to our family.” He reached behind his shoulder to pull the neck of his T-shirt down to expose the tattoo. “The fireball is for my little sister Bethany, who died about 4 years ago. But enough about my tragic past. I can probably still get in touch with Loghain, Teagan and Maric if your ex wants an autograph. They don't speak to each other, mind you, but they might speak to me.”

Anders might not have known him for long, but Garrett was talking too fast and too cheerfully to fool anyone. Anders had already screwed up.

 _Might as well double down_ , he thought. Pounce jumped to the floor in anticipation. “That won't be necessary as my ex is dead, too.”

Anders stared at the full, abandoned mugs, watching the steam dissipate.

“I'm sorry,” he finally said. What else could he say to someone who had lost so much of their family at such a young age? Nothing anyone said had ever helped Anders. “I wasn't trying to compare scars.”

“I know. I didn't mean to snap at you.” Garrett sighed. He took a long drink of what must have been tepid tea. “All of this was going to come out anyway. Might as well rip the bandage off.”

Anders offered a weak smile, cautious despite the hope surging inside him. “We can talk about it more. Or not.”

“I think it'll have to wait. If I keep ignoring these texts, I'll be joining our loved ones.” It was meant as a joke, but Garrett's words stomped out his hope.

“Meeting your friends?” Anders asked, trying to keep his voice even.

“Wicked Grace.” Garrett hesitated for a moment before adding, “I don’t suppose you’d like to come?”

Anders had been a social butterfly of a teenager, but that felt like a past life now. He couldn’t blame it on losing Karl or on his doctoral work. He had changed. In his youth, he had tried to please everyone, tried to make everyone laugh so they would like him. Anders had always been down for a good time. It had burned him out and left him empty.

He had long since given up caring what people thought of him, with one brand new exception.

And why had Garrett hesitated? If he met Garrett’s friends and they hated him, would that be the end?

It was too soon to break their blissful, isolated bubble. Only Sebastian, Carver, and Isabella had breached it so far, but could it take any more punctures?

Anders didn’t know, but his stomach couldn't take the roller coaster today. He stood up.

“Maybe next time. I really should work on my dissertation,” he said, bending down to collect the mugs. It wasn’t a lie.

“Have I told you I find your dedication extremely sexy?” Garrett’s compliment sent him reeling, for much better reasons. But he held back.

“Checking out my dedication, are you?” he asked, looking at Garrett over his shoulder. Both of them were such practiced flirts they could trade quips in their sleep, but Anders couldn't tell if it was a cover or a recovery.

“And when do you think I might be able to tear you away from your studies again?” Garrett asked.

A recovery, then. Anders smiled. “I'll call you tomorrow, assuming you're not too hungover.”

“You know what they say is good for a headache, don’t you?” asked Garrett with a wink. “Kidding.”

But Anders could work with that. “Pity. I fancy myself something of a healer in that department.”

Garrett stood and wrapped his arms around Anders from behind, and Anders relaxed into the embrace. “Hungover or not, I’d love to see you tomorrow. Healing optional, though always welcome.”

Holding the mugs left Anders at Garrett's mercy, but that suited Anders just fine. Rather than quip back, he stole a kiss, and the longer it went on the lighter he felt. When he almost dropped the mugs, it was time to say goodbye.

Even swigs of cold, bitter tea couldn’t drag him back down to the ground. Getting his mind back on his dissertation would be harder now, but Garrett was the worthiest distraction he could imagine.

He’d meet Garrett’s friends soon. If they cared about Garrett, they had to be good people.

 _Soon_ sounded so far off. He thought he'd have time, but Garrett was clever. Anders made good on his healing promise when Garrett came by to interrupt his studies the next day. They hadn’t even gotten out of bed yet when Garrett sprung it on him.

“I’m throwing a party for my friend Varric.”

“The writer?” Anders asked, still glowing. He couldn’t get over the fact that Garrett had such a famous friend and boss, but everything was amazing and wonderful at the moment. Even Tethras seemed less intimidating when Anders was tangled up with Garrett.

Garrett’s chin brushed against Anders’s head as he nodded. “One of his books is getting made into a movie. He just signed a deal to write the screenplay.”

“Wow, really?” said Anders, though the words got lost against Garrett’s neck as he buried his face there. “That’s amazing.”

“Isn’t it?” Garrett traced lazy lines up and down his arm and Anders never wanted to move. He would have agreed to anything in that moment. If Garrett asked him to give up on his degree and move to Orlais, he would make the call then and there. So it seemed downright reasonable when Garrett asked him, “If I made the party for next Friday, would you come?”

“Of course,” Anders said, running his hand through Garrett’s thick hair. “Anything for you.”

“Really?” Garrett rewarded him with a smile that stole his breath. “You’ll come? You don’t have to be at the clinic? You can spare a night off from writing and grading?”

Anders laughed. “You make me sound much busier than I am.”

“You _are_ busy, Anders.” The way Garrett said his name warmed his chest. “You’re incredible, but I don’t want you spreading yourself too thin.”

Garrett was so sweet to worry about him. “You’re important to me,” said Anders. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

He looked up into Garrett’s eyes and pulled him down for a slow kiss. He was still feeling the glow after they had parted ways for the night. As he drifted off to sleep, all he could think about was how next time, he wanted to fall asleep and wake up in Garrett's arms.

It wasn’t until the next morning that he realized what he had actually agreed to in his lovedrunk state. He was going to meet all of Garrett’s friends at a party, where it was very possible that the only other people he knew would be Carver and Isabela.

Ten years ago, he would have gotten drunk off his ass and gone overboard with a charm offensive. Alcohol didn’t make him charming anymore, and it made him a whole lot sicker in the morning.

But he’d probably need a little to get through it.

 _Anything for Garrett_ , thought Anders. And that’s when he knew he was falling in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this chapter is late! Hopefully all the snuggles make up for it. I'm now pretty much caught up with what I had written from before, and this chapter fought me a lot before I figured it out.


	14. Bad Boy Complex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Aveline meet, but not for the first time.

“So, this party…”

“Yes?” Hawke winced, preparing himself for Anders to back out. Hawke wasn’t going to push the issue. As much as he wanted Anders to meet the rest of his friends, he didn’t mind keeping Anders all to himself. There was a reason he had suggested meeting at the same coffee shop from their first date, far away from Potent Prose. 

“Will you be the only person I know?” Anders asked, tapping on his saucer. “I’ve been to weddings like that before. It’s miserable.”

“Well, you know Isabela,” Hawke began, trying to imagine Anders at a reception.

“She’s all right, if she behaves herself.”

Hawke agreed, though he didn’t mention that Isabela had basically said the same thing about Anders. “And hey, maybe Carver will show up.”

“Ooh, my bestie.”

Hawke chuckled. “Yeah, I’m not high on his list of favorite people, either, but if I invite Merrill, he might be tempted.”

“Merrill?” Anders frowned, like he was trying to place the name. 

“Do you know her? Merrill Alerion. Elf, brown hair, very sweet, kind of a hipster? Carver’s had a crush on her for ages.”

“Oh! I think she’s one of my students.” Anders scratched his chin. “I don’t think she likes me, either.”

Merrill liked everyone, but Anders was the first to admit he was bad at connecting with his students. “You always sell yourself short. I like you a whole lot, and I’m an excellent judge of character.”

“And so humble,” Anders added, reaching across the table to stroke Hawke’s hand. “It’s one of the first things I noticed about you: your taut, well-defined humility.”

How could anyone not like Anders when he said things like that?

“You know, we can always ditch the party early and go back to my room,” said Hawke. “I know the host and he won’t mind.”

“What about the guest of honor?” Anders wondered.

“Varric is a party in and of himself. I’ll just get in the way.” Hawke wasn’t kidding. He hadn’t thrown a party since his junior year of college. Was a ton of cheap alcohol and music streamed on a phone still enough to constitute a party?

“As nice as that sounds, I’m not sure that’s the best way to endear myself to your friends.”

“Maybe not, but it’ll win you a lot of points with me.” Hawke smiled, even though Anders was probably right. “I’m just throwing the option out there. Honestly, Varric’s easy to get along with, and if you’ve read any of his books, then he likes you already.”

“Tell me about your other friends,” said Anders, squeezing his hand.

“Well, there’s Aveline. She’s my workout buddy.” _And my moral compass_ , but Hawke kept that to himself.

“Then I’ll have to thank her personally,” Anders replied. He leaned in so he could run his hand up Hawke’s arm, and Hawke flexed a little under his touch. Anders smiled like he’d gotten what he wanted.

“She’s a little stern but she’s got a good heart.

“And then there’s Fenris. He’s Varric’s barista. Bit of a coffee snob.” Forming words was tougher with Anders tracing little circles on his biceps. Hawke wasn’t ticklish, but the featherlight touches left his skin tingling and warm.

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Anders said. “Your coworker?”

Hawke nodded. “He’s a little rough around the edges, but his heart’s in the right place.”

“Sounds like—”

But Anders never finished his thought. His lips turned down at the sound of the door swinging open. Hawke turned to see Aveline, and he waved her over.

“Aveline! Fancy meeting you here.”

Her eyes went wide for but cooled as she approached. “Hello, Hawke. Don’t let me interrupt you.”

“We were actually just talking about you!” He turned back to Anders and patted his hand. "Anders, this is my friend Av—"

Anders narrowed his eyes. "Guard Captain Vallen. We're acquainted."

"Anders." Aveline glared right back at him, her mouth tight.

 _Small Kirkwall_ , Hawke thought. The tension was thick enough to cut, so Hawke let out an exaggerated sigh. "Don't tell me. You slept with Aveline, too?”

Both Aveline and Anders rounded on him, eyes wide and nostrils flared.

"Absolutely not!"

"Not funny, Garrett."

Hawke put up his hands. “Sorry, sorry. Kidding.” Neither Aveline and Anders were laughing, but they were making the same face. “So, since you're not former lovers, how _do_ you know each other?"

"Her guards arrested me for disturbing the peace." Anders crossed his arms.

Hawke folded his own arms and turned to Aveline. "Now why would you arrest my lovely boyfriend?"

" _I_ didn't arrest him,” she said. “And he neglected to mention that he was also completely naked.”

“We were protesting animal testing,” Anders explained.

Hawke vaguely remembered Aveline mentioning a nude protest. Had Anders been close by all those weeks ago? He should have figured it out sooner. Being naked and protesting were two of Anders’s favorite things.

The closest to a protest Hawke had ever seen in Lothering was a collection of free-spirits around the bank with _Honk for Peace_ signs. Hawke had honked, but Anders put his money where his mouth was.

 _And when he gets all fired up..._ His eyes would light up and he'd hold himself a little taller. And his voice would ring with a passion that resonated deep in Hawke's chest.

“You're just lucky the charges were dropped.” Under her breath, Aveline added, “And I was lucky Lia had a blanket in her car.”

"Oh, thank you. How can I ever make it up to you?" Anders spat.

“By protesting in an orderly manner and not exposing yourself to the people of Kirkwall, perhaps?”

“It’s just a body, Captain. Everyone has one, even you,” he scoffed. “But by all means, keep pretending that the dissenters are the problem.”

Aveline’s frown deepened. "There are _rules_ , Anders. Rules that protect the people of this city."

“What about when the rules are the problem?”

“Then you work on changing them by legal means!”

“Wow, this is going well!” said Hawke. This argument wasn’t going to get settled in a coffee shop. He turned to Anders. “Wait, does this mean you have a record?"

"Would you like it if I did?" Anders asked, lowering his voice.

Hawke met his gaze and brushed a finger across his lips. "I've always had a thing for rebels."

"In that case, I've done some very bad things," Anders said, eyes flashing. "The real question is, what are you going to do about it?"

With a dark grin, Hawke grabbed his hands in unspoken promise.

Aveline cleared her throat and Hawke remembered that they were not alone. With a quick squeeze, he pulled back, but he and Anders were slow to break eye contact.

Aveline narrowed her eyes. “Allow me to give you two some space.”

"Sorry, sorry," Hawke said. "We can behave."

Anders lowered his voice so only Hawke would hear. "Speak for yourself."

Hawke bit back his sigh, but Aveline's expression said she knew exactly what was going on.

"I’ll see you in a few months when the novelty's worn off," she offered, turning away.

"Wait!” Hawke called. “You never got back to me about Varric’s party. Are you coming?”

“Oh,” Aveline trailed off.

“Donnic and Varric’s other Guard buddies are coming,” Hawke added.

Aveline made a choked sound. “Donnic’s coming?”

“Varric has _Guard buddies_?” Aveline’s question was lost on Anders, who looked at Hawke, aghast.

“He writes true crime novels, Anders. Where do you think he gets his inspiration?” Hawke said, still watching Aveline. “They meet for Wicked Grace every other week.”

“Did he say he would go? Or did he say that he would think about it?”

Hawke had never seen Aveline like this. “He said he might bring a case of beer,” he said. “Why do you care?”

“That’s none of your business.” Aveline frowned. “I might be working that night. Could you find out for sure?”

“Why?” Hawke raised an eyebrow. “So you can make the schedule?”

“I told you, that’s—yes. That’s it. So I can make the schedule.”

“Is your Guard so dysfunctional that you can’t ask him yourself?” asked Anders.

“What would you know?” Aveline snapped. She turned to Hawke. “Just let me know what he says. And don’t tell him I asked.”

Hawke didn’t understand, but it didn’t matter. “Anything for you.”

“Thank you, Hawke,” she said. All her affection vanished as she gave Anders a curt nod. “Anders.”

“Captain,” he spat back.

Aveline got a cup of coffee to go and left Hawke wondering what he had really agreed to do.

“So, a party with a bunch of off-duty guards?” Anders asked. “That sounds wild.”

Knowing his history with the Guard did complicate things. “I would understand if you changed your mind about coming,” Hawke said.

“Oh, no, it doesn’t bother me. Besides, I have a theory about your friend Aveline’s request, and now I want to see if I’m right.”

Hawke frowned in confusion. “What about Aveline?”

“You’ll see.” There was that glint in his eyes again. “Now, let’s get back to your bad boy complex.”

Donnic would have to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me so long, and I'm sorry not much happened in this chapter! Hawke is a considerate boyfriend...most of the time. 
> 
> I put a tentative chapter cap on the story but it's not set in stone yet. Thanks so much for reading!


End file.
